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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4i.03 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checlted  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm6  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  ^ti  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  ff!mage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


The  c 
to  the 


The  li 
possil 
of  the 
filmin 


□ 


D 


D 


D 
D 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul6e 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


I      I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  giographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reii6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whc^^ever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
11  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout6es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  textv), 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film^es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


D 
D 
D 
0 
D 


D 
D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag6es 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pallicui6es 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet6es  ou  piqu6es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 


Quality  inigale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  mat6riei  suppidmentaire 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totaiement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
et  .,  ont  M  filmies  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  mailleure  image  possible. 


Origir 
begin 
the  la 
sion, 
other 
first  p 
sion, 
or  illu 


Theli 
shall  ( 
TINUi 
which 

Maps 
diffen 
entire 
begini 
right  i 
requir 
meth< 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmi  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqui  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

y 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Library, 

Department  of  National  Defence 


L'exemplaire  film^  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Bibliothdque, 

Mi'  listdre  de  la  Defense  Nationale 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6xi  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  film^s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »•  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmis  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  §tre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n^cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

LI 


A.UTH  t 


DE    W 


t 


LIFE   IN    THE   CLEARINGS 


VERSUS 


THE   BUSH. 


BY    MRS.    MOO  DIE, 


A.UTUOB     OF     "llOUOHINO     IT     IN     TUK     JIUSII,"     ETC 


"  I  sketch  from  Nature,  niul  tlio  drAught  is  tmo. 
Whiito'er  (he  iiictnre,  w  littlitr  grave  or  gay, 
Painful  experience  in  a  diniAnt  land 
Made  it  mine  own." 


NEW    YORK: 

DE   WITT   &   DAVENPORT,   PUBLISHERS, 

ICO   &    1G2    NASSAU   STREET. 


i 


;«*• 


S"' 


*^'/ 


-^<.J>^ 


7  /  f  ■  i-  i  ''' 


/ 


W.  H.  TINSON, 

ITKBSOTTPBB, 

34  BeelcDian  at.,  N.  Y. 


TAWS,  RUSSELL  &C0.. 

,  ^,     ^  ^  «.  V.  V . ,  ^    ^    ALEXANDER, 

BTEAM  iRINTERS,  bindkb, 

20  Beekman  &  18  Spruce-Street  1  Spruce  ct.,  N.  Y. 


'--*#^ 


rs* 


u! 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION 

> 

Pago 
5 

BELLEVILLE              

.       13 

LOCAL   IMPROVEMENTS — SKETCUES   OP  SOCIETY 

41 

FREE   SCHOOLS — TUOUOnTS   ON   EDCCA.TIOX      . 

.       CG 

AMUSEMENTS 

7G 

TRIALS   OP  A   TRAVELLIXO  MUSICIAN      . 

89 

THE   SINOINO   MASTER 

101 

CAMP   MEETINGS 

121 

WEARING   MOURNING   FOR  THE   DEAD      . 

143 

ODD  CHARACTERS             

154 

GRACE   MARKS         

166 

mCIIAEL  MACBRIDB 

JEANIE   BURNS         

LOST  CHILDREN 

TORONTO         

LUNATIC  ASTI.UM 

PROVINCIAL  AGRICULTURAL  SHOW 

KlAGAIvA.         •            •           •            •           •            •            • 

18G 
201 
212 
220 
234 
245 
.    258 

NDEK, 

i               GOAT  ISIJLND 

.     278 

N.  y. 

II              CONCLUSION             ...                      .          . 

.     291 

41  XH 


Lv  our 

picture  ol 

woods.     ] 

public,  W£ 

about  to  f 

they  were 

To  perse 

aucl  liLsuri 

classes  at  1 

It  has  pi 

tured  their 

gle  family  , 

knowledge, 
ditlon,  by  t 
niight  befi] 
prove  the  ti 


^^ 


INTRODUCTION. 


"  Dear  foster-mother,  on  whoso  ample  breast 
The  lnmgry  still  find  food,  the  weary  rest ; 
The  child  of  want  that  treads  thy  happy  shore 
Shall  feel  the  grasp  of  poverty  no  more ; 
His  honest  toil  meet  recompense  can  claim, 
And  Freedom  bless  hira  with  a  freeman's  name !" 

8.  M 

In  our  work  of  *'  Roughing  it  ia  the  Bush,"  I  endeavoured  to  draw  a 
picture  of  Canadian  life,  as  I  found  it  twenty  years  ago,  in  the  Back- 
woods. My  motive  in  giving  such  a  melancholy  narrative  to  the 
public,  was  prompted  by  the  hope  of  deterring  well-educated  people, 
about  to  settle  in  this  colony,  from  entering  upon  a  life  for  which 
they  were  totally  unfitted  by  their  previous  pursuits  and  habits. 

To  persons  unaccustomed  to  hard  labour,  and  used  to  the  comforts 
and  Lixuries  deemed  indispensable  to  those  moving  in  the  middle 
classes  at  home,  a  settlement  in  the  bush  can  offer  few  advantages. 

It  has  proved  the  ruin  of  hundreds  and  thousands  who  have  ven- 
tured their  all  in  this  hazardous  experiment ;  nor  can  I  recollect  a  sin- 
gle family  of  the  higher  class,  that  have  come  under  my  own  personal 
knowledge,  that  ever  realised  an  independence,  or  bettered  tlicir  con- 
dition, by  taking  up  wild  lands  in  remote  localities ;  while  volumes 
might  be  filled  with  failures,  even  more  disastrous  than  our  own,  to 
prove  the  truth  of  ray  former  statements. 


vi 


INTRODUCTION 


iP 


But  whllo  I  bavo  endeavoured  to  point  out  tlie  error  of  gcntlcmon 
bringing  delicate  women  and  belplcsH  cliildrcn  to  toil  in  the  wood^, 
and  by  bo  doing  excluding  them  from  all  social  intercourHe  willi  per- 
Koiis  in  their  own  rank,  and  depriving  the  young<T  brunoheH  of  the 
family  of  the  advantages  of  education,  which,  in  the  vicinity  of  towns 
and  villages,  can  bo  enjoyed  by  the  children  of  the  poorest  emigrant, 
I  have  never  Baid  anything  against  the  uk.vi,  benefits  to  be  derived 
from  a  judicious  choice  of  settlement  in  this  groat  and  rising  country. 
God  forbid  that  any  representations  of  mine  should  deter  one  of  my 
countrymen  from  making  this  noble  and  prosperous  colony  liis  future 
home.  But  let  him  leave  to  the  hardy  labourer  the  place  assigned  to 
him  by  Providence,  nor  undertake,  upon  limit<;d  means,  the  task  of 
pioneer  in  the  great  wildeniess.  Men  of  independent  fortune  can  live 
anywhere.  If  such  prefer  a  life  in  the  woods,  to  the  woods  let  them 
go ;  but  they  will  soon  find  out  that  they  could  have  employed  the 
means  in  their  pov.'er  in  !\  far  more  profitable  manner  than  in  chopping 
down  tree.i  in  the  bush. 

There  arc  a  thousand  more  advantageous  ways  in  which  a  man  of 
property  may  invest  his  capital,  than  by  burying  himself  and  his  fa- 
mily in  the  woods.  There  never  was  a  period  in  the  history  of  the 
colony  that  offered  greater  inducements  to  men  of  moderate  means 
to  emigrate  to  Canada  than  the  present.  The  many  plank-roads  and 
railways  in  the  course  of  construction  in  the  province,  while  they 
afford  high  and  remunerative  wages  to  the  working  classes,  will 
amply  repay  the  speculator  who  embarks  a  portion  of  his  means  in 
purchasing  shares  in  them.  And  if  he  is  bent  upon  becoming  a 
Canadian  farmer,  numbers  of  fine  farms,  in  healthy  and  eligible 
situations,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  good  markets,  are  to  be  had  on 
moderate  terms,  that  would  amply  repay  the  cultivator  for  the  money 
and  labor  expended  upon  them. 

There  are  thousands  of  independent  proprietors  of  this  class  in 
Canada — men  who  move  in  the  best  society,  and  whose  names  have 
a  political  weight  in  the  country.    Why  gentlemen  should  obstinately 


i 


INTUODUCTION'. 


Td 


,lcinon 

111  ptT- 

of  tho 
r  towns 
ligrant, 
ik-rivetl 
oiintry. 
!  of  uiy 
H  futiiro 
igtu'd  to 

task  <)1' 

can  live 
let  them 
nyod  the 
jhoppinf? 

man  of 
lid  his  fa- 
y  of  the 
e  means 
lads  and 
\ile  Ihcy 
sscs,  will 
neans  in 
oming  a 
eligible 
>  had  on 
c  money 

class  ia 

ics  hftvo 

Istinately 


crowd  to  the  Bnckwoodn,  and  prefer  the  coarKo,  hard  life  of  an 
uxeunm,  to  that  of  a  respectable  landed  proprietor  in  i\  civilized 
part  of  the  countr>,  has  alwayH  been  to  uic  u  mutter  of  surpriso  ;  for 
a  farm  under  cultivation  can  alwayH  be  purchased  for  letw  money 
limn  must  uecenHariiy  be  expended  upon  clearing  and  raising  build- 
ings upon  a  wild  lot. 

Many  young  men  are  attracted  to  the  IJackwoods  by  the  fuciliticH 
tliey  present  for  Imuting  and  fisliing.  Tli<'  wild,  fVec  life  of  tho 
iiunter,  has  for  an  ardent  and  romantic  temperanjent  an  inexpressible 
charm.  lUit  hunting  ami  llshing,  however  fascinating  as  a  wiiolesomo 
relaxation  from  labor,  will  not  win  bread,  or  clothe  a  wife  and 
sliivering  little  ones  ;  and  tliose  who  give  tliemselves  entirely  up  to 
such  pursuits,  soon  add  to  these  profitless  accomplishments  the  bush 
vices  of  smoking  and  drinking,  and  quickly  throw  olf  those  moral 
restraints  upon  which  their  respectability  and  future  welfare  depend. 

The  bush  is  the  most  demoralizing  place  to  which  an  anxious  and 
prudent  paront  could  send  a  young  lad.  Freed  suddenly  from  all 
parental  control,  and  exposed  to  tho  contaminating  inlluence  of  broken- 
down  gentlemen  loafers,  who  hide  their  pride  and  poverty  in  the  woods, 
he  joins  in  their  low  debauchery,  and  falsely  imagines  that,  by  becom- 
ing a  blackguard,  he  will  be  considered  an  excellent  backwoodsman. 

How  many  fine  young  men  have  I  seen  beggared  and  ruined  in  the 
bush !  It  is  too  much  the  custom  in  the  woods  for  the  idle  settler, 
who  will  not  work,  to  live  upon  the  new  comer  as  long  as  he  can  give 
him  good  fare  and  his  horn  of  whisky.  "When  these  fail,  farewell  to 
your  good-hearted,  roystering  friends ;  they  will  leave  you  like  a 
swarm  of  musquitoes, .while  you  fret  over  your  festering  wor.nds,  and 
fly  to  suck  the  blood  of  some  new  settler,  who  is  fool  enough  to 
believe  their  offers  of  friendship. 

The  dreadful  vice  of  drunkenness,  which  1  shall  have  occasion  to  soeak 
of  hereafter,  is  nowhere  displayed  in  more  revolting  colours,  or  occurs 
more  frequently,  than  in  the  bush  ;  nor  is  it  exhibited  by  the  lower 
classes  in  so  shameless  a  manner  as  by  the  gentlemen  settlers,  from 


vm 


INTRODUCTION. 


whom  (I  hotter  example  mi^ht  be  expected.  It  woiiM  not  l>e  difflctilt 
to  point  out  the  caiiHes  whicli  loo  often  lend  to  these  melancholy  resulta. 
LosH  of  property,  incapacUy  for  hard  labour,  yielding  the  mind  to 
low  and  degrading  vices,  whicii  destroy  self-rrspoct  und  paralyse  ho- 
nest e.xertion,  and  the  annihilation  of  those  extravagant  hopes  that 
false  statements,  made  by  intereste<l  parties,  had  led  them  lo  enter- 
tain of  fortunes  that  might  be  realised  in  the  woods  :  these  are  a  few 
among  the  many  reasons  that  could  bo  given  for  the  number  of 
victims  that  yearly  fdl  a  drunkard's  dishonourable  grave. 

At  the  period  when  the  greatest  portion  of  "Roughing  it  in  the 
Bush"  was  written,  I  was  totally  igorant  of  life  in  Canada,  as  it  ex- 
isted in  the  towns  and  villages.  Thirteen  years' residence  in  one  of  the 
most  thriving  districts  in  the  Upper  Province  has  given  mc  many 
opportunities  of  becoming  better  acquainted  with  the  manners  and 
habits  of  her  busy,  bustling  population,  than  it  was  possible  for  mo 
ever  to  obtain  in  the  green  prison  of  the  woods. 

Since  my  residence  in  a  settled  part  of  the  country,  I  have  enjoyed 
as  much  domestic  peace  and  happines,s  as  ever  falls  to  the  lot  of  poor 
humanity.  Canada  has  become  almost  as  dear  to  me  as  my  native 
land  ;  and  the  home-sickness  that  constantly  preyed  upon  me  in  the 
Backwoods,  has  long  ago  yielded  to  the  deepest  and  most  heartfelt 
interest  in  the  rapidly  incrf^asing  prosperity  and  greatness  of  the 
country  of  my  adoption, — the  great  foster-mother  of  that  portion  of 
the  human  family  whose  fatherland,  however  dear  to  them,  is  unable 
to  supply  tliem  with  bread. 

To  the  honest  sons  of  labour  Canada  is,  indeed,  an  El  Dorado— a 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  ;  for  they  soon  obtain  that  indepen- 
dence wliich  the  poor  gentleman  straggles  in  vain  to  realise  by  bis 
own  labour  in  the  woods. 

The  conventional  prejudices  that  shackle  the  movements  of  memberB 
of  the  higher  classes  in  Britain  arc  scarcely  recognised  in  Canada  ; 
and  a  man  is  at  liberty  to  choose  the  most  profitable  manner  of  acquir- 
ing wealth,  without  the  fear  of  ridicule  and  the  loss  of  caste. 


'I 


INTROnUCTIOJ*. 


IX 


Ifflcult 

iliul  to 
y8C  ho- 
(>H  tbat 
I  cntcr- 
c  a  few 
oaber  of 

t  in  tlic 
lis  it  cx- 
10  of  tlio 
10  many 
UTS  and 
3  for  mo 

|t  (>r  pijnr 
|y  native 
0  in  tlu! 
hourtfelt 
;h  of  tlic 
rlioa  of 
s  unable 

Lvaclo — a 
[indopen- 
by  bis 


The  friendly  rdutlonH  wliich  now  ex'iA  betweon  us  and  onr  outor- 
priwinj?,  IntolligtMit  American  noi^'liborn,  havo  doubtleas  done  much 
to  proilucc  this  umalKaniation  of  clasacH.  The  gentleman  no  lonj^er 
looks  down  with  supercilious  Belf-itnportance  on  the  wealthy  merchant, 
nor  does  the  latter  refuse  to  the  ingenious  mechanic  the  ri.'spoct  duo 
to  him  as  a  man.  A  more  healthy  state  pervades  Canadian  society 
than  existed  here  a  few  years  ago,  when  party  feeling  ran  liigh,  and 
the  professional  men  and  ofllce-holders  visited  exclusively  ,'\mong 
themselves,  aflecting  airs  of  aristocratic  superiority,  which  were  per- 
fectly absurd  in  a  new  country,  and  which  gave  great  olfence  t<> 
those  of  equal  wealth  who  were  not  admitted  into  their  clinue. 
Though  too  much  of  this  spirit  exists  in  the  large  cities,  such  as 
Quebec,  Montreal,  and  Toronto,  it  would  not  bo  tolerated  in  the 
small  district  towns  and  villages,  where  a  gentleman  could  not  taico 
a  surer  method  of  making  himself  unpopular  than  by  exhibiting  this 
feeling  to  his  fellow-townsmen. 

I  have  been  repeatedly  asked,  since  the  publication  of  •'  Roughing 
it  in  the  Bush,"  to  give  an  account  of  the  present  state  of  society 
in  the  colony,  and  to  point  out  its  increasing  prosperity  and  com- 
mercial advantages  ;  but  statistics  are  not  my  forte,  nor  do  I  feel 
myself  qualified  for  such  an  arduous  and  important  task.  My  know- 
ledge of  the  colony  is  too  limited  to  enable  mo  to  write  a  compre- 
hensive work  on  a  subject  of  vital  consequence,  which  might  involve 
the  happiness  of  others.  But  what  I  do  know  I  will  endeavour  to 
sketch  with  a  light  pencil ;  and  if  I  cannot  convey  much  useful 
information,  I  will  try  to  amuse  the  reader  ;  and  by  a  mixture  of 
prose  and  poetry  compile  a  small  volume,  which  may  help  to  whilo 
away  an  idle  hour,  or  fill  up  tho  blanks  of  a  wet  day. 


1  embers 

'anada ; 

If  acquir- 


Belleville,  Canada  West, 


INDIAN  SUMMER. 


By  the  purple  haze  that  lies 

On  the  distant  rocky  height, 
Ey  the  deep  blue  of  the  tkies, 

By  the  smoky  amber  light, 
Through  the  forest  arches  streaming, 
Where  nature  on  her  throne  sits  dreaming, 
And  the  Kun  is  scarcely  gleaming 

Through  the  cloudlet's  snowy  white. 
Winter's  lovely  herald  greets  us, 
Ere  the  ice-crown'd  tyrant  meets  us. 

A  mellow  softness  fills  the  air — 
No  breeze  on  wanton  winj  steals  by, 

To  break  the  holy  quiet  there. 

Or  make  the  waters  fret  and  sigh, 

Or  the  golden  alders  sliiver, 

That  bend  to  kiss  the  placid  river. 

Flowing  on  and  on  for  ever  ; 

But  the  little  waves  seem  sleeping, 
O'er  the  pebbles  slowly  creeping, 
That  last  night  were  flashing,  leaping. 

Driven  by  the  restless  breeze. 

In  lines  of  foam  beneath  yon  trees. 


Dress'd  in  robes  of  gorgeous  hue — 

Brown  and  gold  with  crimson  blent, 
The  forest  to  the  waters  blue 

Its  own  enchanting  tints  has  lent. 
In  their  dark  depths,  life-like  glowing, 
Vt'^e  see  a  second  forest  growing, 
Each  pictur'd  leaf  and  branch  bestowing 
A  fairy  grace  on  that  twin  wood, 
Mirror'd  within  the  crystal  flood. 


xu. 


INDIAN    SUMMER. 


'Tis  pleasant  now  in  forest  shades ; — 

The  Indian  hunter  strings  his  bow 
To  track,  through  dark  entangled  glades, 

The  antler'd  deer  and  bounding  doe  ; 
Or  launch  at  night  his  birch  canoe, 

To  spear  the  finny  tribes  that  dwell 
On  sandy  bank,  in  weedy  cell. 

Or  pool  the  fisher  knows  right  well, — 
Seen  by  the  red  and  livid  glow 

Of  pine-torch  at  his  vessel's  bow. 

This  dreamy  Indian  summer-day 

Attunes  the  soul  to  tender  sadness : 
We  love,  but  joy  not  in  the  ray, 

It  is  not  summer's  fervid  gladness, 
But  a  melancholy  glory 

Hov'ring  brightly  round  decay, 
Like  swan  that  Hings  her  own  sad  story, 

Ere  she  fioatft  in  death  away. 


The  day  declines. — ^What  splendid  dyes, 
In  flicker'd  waves  of  crimson  driven, 
Float  o'er  the  safiron  sea,  that  lies 
Glowing  within  the  western  heaven  I 
Ah,  it  is  a  peerless  even  ! 
See,  the  broad  red  sun  has  set. 
But  his  rays  are  quivering  yet, 
Through  nature's  veil  of  violet, 
Streaming  bright  o'er  lake  and  hill  j 
But  earth  and  forest  lie  so  still — 
We  start,  and  check  the  rising  tear, 
'Tis  beauty  sleeping  on  her  bier. 


Yea 

Ihadi 
and  ye 
appoln 

For 
my  infj 
that  gi 
culties 
of  my  ] 

The] 


^ 


LIFE  IN  THE  CLEARINGS 


VERSUS  THE  BUSH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  The  land  of  our  adoption  claims 

Our  liighest  powers — our  firmest  trust — 
May  future  ages  blend  our  names 

With  hers,  when  we  shall  sleep  in  dust. 
Land  of  our  sons ! — last-born  of  earth, 

A  mighty  nation  nurtures  thee ; 
The  first  in  mortal  power  and  worth — 

Long  mayest  thou  boast  her  sovereignty ! 


Union  is  strength,  while  round  the  boughs 

Of  thine  own  lofty  maple-tree ; 
The  threefold  wreath  of  Britain  flows, 

Twined  with  the  graceful  fleur-de-U«  ; 
A  chaplet  wreathed  mid  itmiles  and  tears, 

In  whiih  all  hues  of  glory  blend ; 
Long  may  it  bloom  for  future  years, 

And  vigour  to  thy  weakness  lend." 


Year  after  year,  during  twenty  years'  residence  in  the  colony, 
I  had  indulged  the  hope  of  one  day  visiting  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
and  year  after  year,  for  twenty  long  years,  I  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. 

For  the  first  ten  years,  my  residence  in  the  woods  of  Douro, 
ray  infant  family,  at  last,  not  least,  among  the  list  of  objections, 
that  great  want — the  want  of  money — placed  insuperable  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  my  ever  accomplishing  this  cherished  wish 
of  my  heart. 

The  hope,  resigned  for  the  present,  was  always  indulged  as  a 


!  " 


u 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


bright  future — a  jileasant  day-dream — an  event  which  at  eoiiio 
unknown  period,  when  liappier  days  should  dawn  upon  us,  might 
take  ])lace  ;  but  which  just  now  was  entirely  out  of  the  question. 

Wlien  the  cliildrcn  were  very  importunate  for  a  new  book  or 
toy,  and  I  had  not  the  means  of  gratifying  them,  I  used  to  silence 
them  by  saying  that  I  would  buy  that  and  many  other  nice 
things  for  them  when  "  our  money  cart  came  home." 

During  the  next  ten  years,  this  all-important  and  anxiously 
anticipated  vehicle  did  not  arrive.  The  children  did  not  get  their 
toys,  and  my  journey  to  Niagara  was  still  postponed  to  an  inde- 
finite period. 

Like  a  true  daughter  of  romance,  I  could  not  banish  from  my 
mind  the  glorious  ideal  I  had  formed  of  this  wonder  of  the  world ; 
but  still  continued  to  speculate  about  the  mighty  cataract,  that 
sublime  "  tlmnder  of  waters,''^  whose  very  name  from  childhood 
had  been  musi*  to  my  ears. 

Ah,  hope !  what  would  life  be,  stripped  of  thy  encouraging 
smiles,  that  teach  us  to  look  behind  the  dark  clouds  of  to-day  for 
the  golden  beams  that  are  to  gild  the  morrow.  To  those  who 
have  faith  in  thy  promises,  the  most  extravagant  fictions  are 
possible ;  and  the  unreal  becomes  material  and  tangible.  The 
artist  who  placed  thee  upon  the  rock  with  an  anchor  for  a  lean- 
ing post^  could  never  have  experienced  any  of  thy  vagrant  pro- 
pensities. He  should  have  invested  thee  with  the  rainbow  of 
Iris,  the  winged  feet  of  Mercury,  and  the  upward  pointing  finger 
of  Faith;  and  as  for  thy  footstool,  it  should  be  a  fleecy  white 
cloud,  changing  its  form  with  the  changing  breeze. 

Yet  this  hope  of  mine,  of  one  day  seeing  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
was,  after  all,  a  very  enduring  hope ;  for  though  I  began  to  fear 
that  it  never  would  be  realized,  yet,  for  twenty  years,  I  never 
gave  it  up  entirely ;  and  Patience,  who  always  sits  at  the  feet 
of  Hope,  was  at  length  rewarded  by  her  sister's  consenting 
smile. 

During  the  past  summer  I  was  confined,  by  severe  indisposi- 
tion, almost  entirely  to  the  house.  The  obstinate  nature  of  my 
disease  baflfled  the  skill  of  a  very  clever  medical  attendant,  and 
created  alarm  and  uneasiness  in  ray  family ;  and  I  entertained 
Fmall  hopes  of  my  o  wn  recovery. 


Di 

scen( 
from 
as  I A 
I  exc 
shall 
My 
ney  in 
made, 
some 
The 
first  ai 
appear 
upon  it 
to  smil 
interest 
ing.     T 
to  whic 
als  of  m 
peeping 
three  de 
meet  or 
me  on  n 
to  whisp 
blessed  ( 
having  p 
Next! 
as  the  pi] 
outward 
divine  in: 
the  soul  1 
ful,  howe 
the  most 
circumsta 
of  the  m 
genius  wi] 
is  not  a  d 
great  nati 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEARINGS. 


15 


it  somo 
},  niiglit 
uestion. 
book  or 
)  silence 
ler  nice 

nxiously 
get  their 
an  indo- 

from  my 
le  world ; 
ract,  that 
:liildhood 

Bouraging 
;o-day  for 
hose  who 
itions  are 
ble.    The 
ir  a  lean- 
;rant  pro- 
linhow  of 
mg  finger 
;cy  white 

;  Niagara, 

to  fear 

I,  I  never 

the  feet 

pnseuting 

[ndisposi- 

re  of  my 

lant,  and 

Itertained 


Dr.  L ,  as  a  last  resonrco,  recommended  change  of  air  and 

scene ;  a  remedy  far  more  to  my  taste  tlian  the  odious  drugs 
from  wliicli  I  had  not  derived  the  least  benefit.  Ill  and  languid 
as  I  was,  Niagara  once  more  rose  before  my  mental  vision,  and 
I  exclaimed,  with  a  thrill  of  joy,  "The  time  is  come  at  last — I 
shall  yet  see  it  before  I  die." 

My  dear  husband  was  to  bo  the  companion  of  ray  long  jour- 
ney in  search  of  health.  Our  simple  arrangements  were  soon 
made,  and  on  the  7th  of  September  wo  left  Belleville  in  the  hand- 
some new  steam-boat,  "  The  Bay  of  Quinte,"  for  Kingston. 

The  afternoon  was  cloudless,  the  woods  just  tinged  with  their 
first  autumnal  glow,  and  the  lovely  bay,  and  its  fairy  isles,  never 
appeared  more  enchanting  in  my  eyes.  Often  as  I  had  gazed 
upon  it  in  storm  and  shine,  its  blue  transparent  waters  seemed 
to  smile  upon  me  more  lovingly  than  usual.  With  aflfectionate 
interest  I  looked  long  and  tenderly  upon  the  shores  we  were  leav- 
ing. There  stood  my  peaceful,  happy  home ;  the  haven  of  rest 
to  which  Providence  had  conducted  me  after  the  storms  and  tri- 
als of  many  years.  Within  the  walls  of  that  small  stone  cottage, 
peeping  forth  from  its  screen  of  young  hickory  trees,  I  had  left 
three  dear  children, — God  only  could  tell  whether  we  should  ever 
meet  on  earth  again :  I  knew  that  their  prayers  would  follow 
me  on  my  long  journey,  and  the  cherub  Hope  was  still  at  my  side, 
to  w^hisper  of  happy  hours  and  restored  health  and  spirits.  I 
blessed  God,  for  the  love  of  those  young  kindred  hearts,  and  for 
having  placed  their  home  in  such  a  charming  locality. 

Next  to  the  love  of  God,  the  love  of  nature  may  be  regarded 
as  the  purest  and  holiest  feeling  of  the  human  breast.  J  In  the 
outward  beauty  of  his  creation,  wo  catch  a  reflection  of  the 
divine  image  of  the  Creator,  which  refines  the  intellect,  and  lifts 
the  soul  upward  to  Ilim.  This  innate  perception  of  the  beauti- 
ful, however,  is  confined  to  no  rank  or  situation,  but  is  found  in 
the  most  barren  spots,  and  surrounded  by  the  most  unfavourable 
circumstances  ;  wherever  the  sun  shines  and  warms,  or  the  glory 
of  the  moon  and  stars  can  be  seen  at  night,  the  children  of 
genius  will  find  a  revelation  of  God  in  their  beams.  But  there 
is  not  a  doubt  that  those  born  and  brought  np  among  scenes  of 
great  natural  sublimity  and  beauty,  imbibe  this  feeling  in  a  larger 


16 


LIFB   IN   TUB   CLKARIN08. 


degree,  and  their  minds  are  more  easily  imbued  with  the  glorious 
colouring  of  romance, — the  inspired  visions  of  the  poet. 

Dear  patient  reader  1  whether  of  British  or  Canadian  origin, 
as  I  wish  to  afford  you  all  the  amusement  in  my  power,  deign  to 
accompany  me  on  my  long  journey.  Allow  me  a  woman's  privi- 
lege of  talkmg  of  all  sorts  of  things  by  the  way.  Should  I  tiro 
you  with  my  desultory  mode  of  conversation,  bear  with  me 
charitably,  and  take  into  account  the  infirmities  incidental  to  my 
gossiping  sex  and  age.  If  I  dwell  too  long  upon  some  subjects, 
do  not  call  me  a  bore,  or  vain  and  trifling,  if  I  pass  too  lightly 
over  others.  The  little  knowledge  I  possess,  I  impart  freely,  and 
wish  that  it  was  more  profound  and  extensive,  for  your  sake. 

Come,  and  take  your  seat  with  me  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer ; 
and  as  we  glide  over  the  waters  of  this  beautiful  Bay  of  Quinte, 
I  will  make  you  acquainted  with  every  spot  worthy  of  note 
along  its  picturesque  shores. 

An  English  lady,  writing  to  me  not  long  ago,  expressed  her 
weariness  of  my  long  stories  about  the  country  of  my  adop- 
tion, in  the  following  terms : — "  Don't  fill  your  letters  to  me  with 
descriptions  of  Canada.  Who,  in  England^  thinks  anything  of 
Canada  P^ 

Here  the  pride  so  common  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  favoured 
isles  spoke  out.  This  is  perhaps  excusable  in  those  who  boast 
that  they  belong  to  a  country  that  possesses,  in  an  eminent  de- 
gree, the  attributes  bestowed  by  old  Jacob  on  his  first-born, — 
"  the  excellency  of  dignity,  and  the  excellency  of  power."  But, 
to  my  own  thinking,  it  savoured  not  a  little  of  arrogance,  and 
still  more  of  ignorance,  in  the  fair  writer ;  who,  being  a  woman 
of  talent,  should  have  known  better.  A  child  is  not  a  man,  but 
his  progress  is  regarded  with  more  attention  on  that  account; 
and  his  future  greatness  is  very  much  determined  by  the  progress 
he  makes  in  his  youth. 

To  judge  Canada  by  the  same  standard,  she  appears  to  us  a 
giant  for  her  years,  and  well  worthy  the  most  serious  contempla- 
tion. Many  are  the  weary,  overtasked  minds  in  that  great, 
wealthy,  and  powerful  England,  that  turn  towards  this  flourish- 
ing colony  their  anxious  thoughts,  and  would  willingly  exchange 
the  golden  prime  of  the  mother  country  for  the  healthy,  vigor- 


i 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEAKINQS. 


17 


5  glorious 

in  origin, 
,  deign  to 
in'8  privi- 
ild  I  tiro 
■with  mo 
itftl  to  my 
J  subjects, 
oo.  lightly 
freely,  and 
ir  sake. 
B  steamer ; 
of  Quinte, 
y  of  note 

ressed  her 
my  adop- 

to  me  with 
ything  of 

favoured 
rho  boast 
linent  de- 
st-born, — 
jr."  But, 
gance,  and 
a  woman 
man,  but 
account; 
progress 

Is  to  us  a 

pntempla- 
lat  great, 
flourish- 
lexchange 
\y,  vigor- 


1 


ous  young  strength  of  this,  licr  stalwart  clilld,  and  consider 
themselves  only  too  hajjpy  in  securing  a  Iiomo  upon  these  free 
and  fertile  shores. 

Bo  not  discouraged,  bravo  emigrant.  Let  Canada  still  remain 
the  briglit  future  in  your  mind,  and  hasten  to  convert  your  pre- 
sent day-dream  into  reality.  The  time  is  not  far  distant  when 
she  shall  be  the  theme  of  many  tongues,  and  the  old  nations  of  tho 
world  will  speak  of  her  progress  with  resj)cct  and  admiration, 
ller  intancy  is  past,  she  begins  to  feel  her  feet,  to  know  her 
own  strength,  and  see  her  way  clearly  through  the  wilderness. 
Child  as  you  may  deem  her,  she  has  already  battled  brtively  for 
her  own  I'ights,  and  obtained  the  management  of  her  own  affairs. 
Her  onward  progress  is  certain.  There  is  no  if  in  her  case.  She 
possesses  within  her  own  territory  all  tho  elements  of  futuro 
prosperity,  and  she  mxist  he  great/ 

The  men  who  throng  her  marts,  and  clear  her  forests,  aro 
workers,  not  dreamers, — who  have  already  realized  Solomon's 
pithy  proverb,  "  In  all  labour  is  profit ;"  and  their  industry  has 
imbued  them  with  a  spirit  of  independence  which  cannot  fail  to 
make  them  a  free  and  enlightened  people. 

An  illustration  of  tho  truth  of  what  I  advance,  can  be  given 
in  the  pretty  town  wo  are  leaving  on  the  north  side  of  the  bay. 
I  think  you  will  own  with  me  that  your  eyes  have  seldom  rested 
upon  a  spot  more  favoured  by  Nature,  or  one  that  bids  fairer  to 
rise  to  great  wealth  and  political  importance. 

Sixty  years  ago,  the  spot  that  Belleville  now  occupies  was  in  the 
wilderness  ;  and  its  rapid,  sparkling  river  and  sunny  upland 
slopes  (which  during  the  lapse  of  ages  have  formed  a  succession 
of  banks  to  the  said  river),  were  only  known  to  the  Indian  hun- 
ter and  the  white  trader. 

Where  you  see  those  substantial  stono  wharfs,  and  the  masts 
of  those  vessels,  unloading  their  valuable  cargoes  to  replenish 
tho  stores  of  the  wealthy  merchants  in  the  town,  a  tangled  cedar 
swamp  spreads  its  dark,  unwholesome  vegetation  into  the  bay, 
completely  covering  with  an  impenetrable  jungle  those  smooth 
verdant  plains,  now  surrounded  with  neat  cottages  and  gardens. 

Of  a  bright  summer  evening  (and  when  is  a  Canadian  summer 
evening  otherwise  ?)  those  plains  swarm  with  happy,  healthy 


it 


18 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARIKG6. 


children,  wlio  assemble  there  to  pursue  their  gambols  beyond  the 
heat  uiid  dust  of  the  town ;  or  to  watch  with  eager  eyes  the 
young  men  of  the  i)luce  engaged  in  the  manly  old  English  game 
of  cricket,  wltli  whom  it  is,  in  their  iiarmless  boasting,  "■  Belle- 
ville against  Toronto-Cobourg;  Kingston,  the  whole  world," 

The  editor  of  a  Kingston  i)ai)er  once  had  the  barbarity  to  com- 
pare these  valiant  champions  of  the  bat  and  ball  to  ''  singed  cata 
— ugly  to  look  at,  but  very  devils  to  go." 

Our  lads  have  never  forgiven  the  insult;  and  should  the  said 
editor  ever  show  his  face  upon  their  ground,  they  would  kick 
him  off  with  as  little  ceremony  as  they  would  a  spent  ball. 

On  that  high  sandy  ridge  that  overlooks  the  town  eastward — 
where  the  tin  roof  of  the  Court  IIoiLse,  a  massy,  but  rather  taste- 
less building,  and  the  spires  of  four  churches  catch  the  rays  of 
the  sun — a  tangled  maze  of  hazel  bushes,  and  wild  plum  and 
cherry,  once  screened  the  Indian  burying-ground,  and  the  chil- 
dren of  the  red  hunter  sought  for  strawberries  among  the  long 
grovss  and  ■  'ild  flowers  that  flourish  profusely  in  that  sandy 
soil. 

Would  that  yoi;  could  stand  with  me  on  that  lofty  eminence 
and  look  around  you  1  The  charming  prospect  that  spreads  itself 
at  your  feet  would  richly  repay  you  for  toiling  up  the  hill. 

We  will  suppose  ourselves  standing  among  the  graves  in  the 
burying-ground  of  the  English  church  ;  the  sunny  heavens  above 
us,  the  glorious  waters  of  tlie  bay,  clasping  in  their  azure  belt 
three-fourths  of  the  landscape,  and  the  quiet  dead  sleeping  at 
our  feet. 

The  white  man  has  so  completely  supplanted  his  red  brother, 
that  he  has  appropriated  the  very  spot  that  held  his  bones ;  and 
in  a  few  years  tlieir  dust  will  mingle  together,  although  no  stone 
marks  the  grave  where  the  red  man  sleeps. 

From  this  churchyard  you  enjoy  the  finest  view  of  the  town 
and  surrounding  country ;  and,  turn  your  eyes  which  way  you 
will,  they  cannot  fail  to  rest  on  some  natural  object  of  great  in- 
terest and  beauty. 

The  church  itself  is  but  a  homely  structure;  and  has  always 
been  to  me  a  great  eyesore.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  first 
inhabitants  of  the  place  selected  their  best  and  most  healthy 


I 


yond  the 
eyes  the 
ish  game 
,  "  Belle- 
rid." 

y  to  com- 
nged  cata 

the  said 
nild  kick 
jail. 

i8tward — 
her  tastc- 
e  rays  of 
[)lnm  and 
the  chil- 
the  long 
lat  sandy 

eminence 

;ad8  itself 

hill. 

les  in  the 

■ns  ahove 

zure  belt 

k^ping  at 

brother, 

ties;  and 

no  stone 

Ihe  town 
ray  you 
jreat  in- 

always 

I  the  first 

healthy 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAUINOS. 


10 


building  sites  for  the  erection  of  places  of  worship.  Chnrches 
and  clmrcliyards  occupy  the  hills  from  whence  they  obtain  their 
springs  of  fresh  water, — and  such  delicious  water!  They  do  not 
at  present  feel  any  ill-consecpjcnces  arising  from  this  error  of 
juflgmcnt;  but  the  time  will  come,  as  population  increases,  and 
the  dead  accumulate,  when  these  burying-grounds,  by  poisoning 
the  springs  that  tiow  through  them,  will  materially  injure  tiio 
hi'.'iltli  of  the  living. 

The  English  church  was  built  many  years  ago,  partly  of  red 
brick  burnt  in  the  neighbou  lood,  and  partly  of  wood  coloured 
red  to  make  up  the  deficiency  of  tlie  costlier  material.  Thi.} 
seems  a  shabby  saving,  as  abundance  of  brick-earth  of  the  best 
quality  abounds  in  tlie  same  hills,  and  the  miiking  of  bricka 
forms  a  very  lucrative  and  important  craft  to  several  persons  in 
the  town. 

Belleville  was  but  a  small  settlement  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
scarcely  deserving  the  name  of  a  village,  when  this  church  first 
pointed  its  ugly  tower  towards  heaven.  Doubtless  its  founders 
^bought  they  had  done  wonders  when  they  erected  this  humble 
looking  place  of  worship ;  but  now,  when  their  descendants  have 
become  rich,  and  the  village  of  log-huts  and  frame  buildings  has 
grown  into  a  populous,  busy,  thriving  town,  and  this  red  taste- 
less building  is  too  small  to  accommodate  its  congregation,  it 
should  no  longer  hold  the  height  of  the  hill,  but  give  i)lace  to  a 
larger  and  handsomer  edifice. 

Behold  its  Catholic  brother  on  the  other  side  of  the  road ; 
how  much  its  elegant  structure  and  graceful  spire  adds  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  Yet  the  funds  for  rearing  that  handsome 
building,  which  is  such  an  ornament  to  the  town,  were  chielly 
derived  from  small  subscriptions,  drawn  from  the  earnings  of 
mechanics,  day-labourers,  and  female  servants.  If  the  Church 
of  England  were  supported  throughout  the  colony,  on  the  volun- 
tary principle,  we  should  soon  see  fine  stone  churches,  like  St. 
Michael,  replacing  these  decaying  edifices  of  wood,  and  the  out.- 
cry  about  the  ever-vexed  question  of  the  Clergy  Reserves,  would 
be  merged  in  her  increased  influence  and  prosperity. 

The  deep-toned,  sonorous  bell,  that  fills  the  steeple  of  the 
Catholic  church,  which  cost,  I  have  been  told,  seven  hundred 


20 


LIFK    IN    THK    CLKARINOS. 


potiiulfl,  and  WJV3  l>roui,'lit  all  tlio  ■svay  fi-(»iM  Spain,  ^vad  pur- 
chased by  tho  voluntary  donations  of  tho  congregation.  This 
l)t'll  is  '•eniarkable  for  its  fine  tone,  -wliicli  can  bo  heard  ciglit 
miles  into  tho  comitry,  as  far  as  the  village  of  North[)ort,  eleven 
miles  distant,  on  tho  other  side  of  tho  bay.  There  is  a  Holomn 
grandeur  in  tlio  solitary  voice  of  tho  magnilicent  bell,  as  it 
booms  across  tho  valley  in  which  tho  town  lies,  and  reverberates 
among  tho  distant  woods  and  liills,  •which  him  a  very  imposing 
etlect. 

A  fow  years  ago  tho  mechanics  in  tho  town  entered  into  an 
agreement  that  thoy  would  only  work  from  six  to  six  during  tho 
summer  months,  and  from  seven  till  tivo  in  tho  winter,  and  they 
offered  to  pay  a  certain  sum  to  tho  Catholic  church  for  tolling 
tho  bell  at  tho  said  hours.  Tho  Catholic  workmen  who  reside 
in  or  near  tho  town,  adhere  strictly  to  this  rule,  and,  if  the 
season  is  ever  so  pressing,  they  obstinately  refuse  to  work  before 
or  after  the  stated  time.  I  have  scon,  on  our  own  little  farm, 
tho  mower  lling  down  his  scytho  in  tho  swathe,  and  the  harvest- 
man  his  sickle  in  the  ridge,  tho  moment  the  bell  tolled  for  six. 

In  fact,  the  bell  in  this  respect  is  looked  upon  as  a  great  nui- 
sance; and  the  farmers  in  tho  country  refuse  to  bo  guided  by  it 
in  tho  hours  allotted  for  field  labour;  as  they  justly  remark  that 
tho  best  time  for  hard  work  in  a  hot  country  is  before  six  in  the 
morning,  and  after  tho  heat  of  the  day  in  the  evening. 

When  tho  bell  commences  to  toll  there  is  a  long  j^auso  be- 
tween each  of  the  first  four  strokes.  This  is  to  alloAV  the  pious 
Catholic  time  for  crossing  himself  and  sa-ying  a  short  prayer. 

How  much  of  tho  ideal  mingles  with  this  worship  !  No  won- 
der that  tho  Irish,  who  are  such  an  imaginative  people,  should 
cling  to  it  with  such  veneration.  Woidd  any  other  creed  suit 
them  as  well  ?  It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  stop  into  their  churches, 
and  witness  tho  intensity  of  their  devotions.  Reason  never 
raises  a  doubt  to  shako  tho  oneness  of  their  faith.  They  receive 
it  on  the  credit  of  their  priests,  and  their  credulity  is  as  boimd- 
loss  as  their  ignorance.  Often  have  I  asked  tho  poor  Catholics 
in  my  employ  why  such  and  such  days  were  holy  days  ?  They 
could  seldom  tell  me,  but  said  that  "  the  priest  told  them  to  keep 
them  holy,  and  to  break  them  would  be  a  deadly  sin." 


i 

tlieyl 
mysel 
gcr  o| 
self 
lias  cl 
whicll 


LIFK    IN    TIFE    CLKAUINOS. 


21 


vns  pur- 
.n.  Thia 
ird  ci^'ht 
rt,  clcvin 
a  soloirm 
lell,  as  it 
crborutcs 
imposing 

;(!  into  an 
hiring  tho 
,  ftnd  tlicy 
for  tolling 
,lio  reside 
vnd,  if  the 
ork  before 
ittlo  farm, 
ic  liarvest- 

for  six. 
jgroat  nui- 
jided  by  it 
Iniark  that 

six  in  the 


1  cannot  but  respect  their  child-like  trnst,  and  tho  rovercnco 
they  feel  for  their  spiritual  teochers ;  nor  could  I  ever  bring 
myself  to  believe  thnt  a  conscientious  Catholic  was  in  any  dan- 
ger of  rejection  from  tho  final  bar.  lie  has  imposed  upon  him- 
self a  heavier  yoke  than  the  Saviour  kindly  laid  upon  him,  and 
has  enslaved  himself  with  a  thousand  superstitious  obsi-rvances 
which  to  us  appear  absurd  ;  but  his  sincerity  should  awaken  in 
us  an  affoctionato  interest  in  his  behalf,  not  engender  tho  bitter 
hatred  which  at  present  forms  an  adamantine  barrier  between 
us.  If  tho  Protestant  would  give  up  a  littlo  of  his  bigotry,  and 
tho  Catholic  a  part  of  his  superstition,  and  thoy  would  consent 
to  meet  each  other  half  way,  as  brothers  of  one  common  man- 
hood, inspired  by  tho  samo  Christian  liope,  and  bound  to  the 
same  heavenly  country,  wo  should  no  longer  see  the  orange 
bann  »•  flaunting  our  streets  on  tho  twelfth  of  July,  and  natives 
of  the  same  island  provoking  each  other  to  acts  of  violence  and 

bloodshed. 
Tliese  hostile  encounters  are  of  yearly  occurrence  in  tho 

colony,  and  are  justly  held  in  abhorrence  by  the  pious  and 

thinking  portion  of  the  population  of  either  denomination.     Tlio 

government  has  for  many  years  vainly  endeavored  to  put  them 

down,  but  they  still  pollute  with  their  moral  leprosy  the  free 

institutions  of  tho  country,  and  eflfectually  prevent  any  friendly 

feeling  which  might  grow  up  between  the  members  of  these 

rival  and  hostile  creeds. 

In  Canada,  where  all  religions  are  tolerated,  it  appears  a  use- 
less aggravation  of  an  old  national  gi-ievanco  to  jjerpetuato  tho 
memory  of  the  battle  of  tho  Boyne.  "What  have  we  to  do  with 
tlio  hatreds  and  animosities  of  a  more  barbarous  ago.  These 
things  belong  to  tlie  past :  "  Lot  the  dead  bury  their  dead," 
and  let  us  form  for  ourselves  a  holier  and  truer  present.  Tho 
old  quarrel  between  Irish  Catholics  and  Protestants  should  have 
been  sunk  in  tho  ocean  when  they  left  their  native  country  to 
lind  a  home,  unpolluted  by  tho  tyrannies  of  bygone  ages,  in  the 
wilds  of  Canada. 

Tho  larger  portion  of  our  domestics  are  from  Ireland,  and  as 
far  as  my  experience  goes,  I  have  found  t^^o  Catholic  Irish  as 
faithful  and  trustworthy  as  tho  Protestants.     The  tendency  to 


I     '^1 


92 


MFE    IN    TlIK    CI.^ARINOR. 


Iiuto  belongs  to  tho  rncc,  not  to  tlio  religion,  or  the  ProtoHtant 
would  not  exhibit  the  bjuiio  viiulictivo  spirit  wbich  iiiarku  liii) 
Ctttliolie  brother.  They  break  und  destroy  more  than  tho 
rroteHtiiutH,  but  thiit  HpringH  from  tho  reckless  carelossncss  of 
their  cliuracter  more  than  from  any  nialico  against  their  em- 
l)l()yerH,  if  you  n>ay  judge  by  tho  bad  v.sago  they  give  their 
own  household  goods  and  tools.  Tho  ])rinciplo  on  which  they 
live  is  literally  to  caro  as  little  as  possible  for  tho  things  of  to- 
day, and  to  take  no  thought  at  all  ft)r  tho  morrow. 

''  Shuro,  Ma'am,  it  can  be  used,"  said  an  Irish  girl  to  mo,  after 
breaking  the  sjxmt  of  an  expensive  china  jug,  "It  is  not  a  hair 
tho  worse!"  She  could  not  iniagiuo  that  a  mutilated  object 
could  occasion  the  least  discomfort  to  those  accustomed  to  order 
and  neatness  in  their  household  arrangements. 

Tho  Irish  f-.-malo  servants  are  remarkably  chasto  in  their  lan- 
guage and  dei)ortment.  You  aro  often  obliged  to  find  fault  with 
them  for  gross  acts  of  neglect  and  Avastefulnoss,  but  never  for 
using  bad  language.  They  may  spoil  your  children  by  over  in- 
dulgence, but  they  never  corrupt  their  morals  by  loose  conver- 
sation. 

An  Irish  girl  once  told  me,  with  beautiful  sin'plicity,  "that 
every  bad  word  a  woman  uttered,  made  tho  blessed  Virgin  7>?w«A." 

A  girl  beconnng  a  mother  before  marriage  is  regarded  as  a 
dreadful  calamity  by  her  family,  ard  she  seldom,  if  ever,  gets 
one  of  her  own  countrymen  to  marry  her  with  this  stain  on  her 
character. 

IIow  ditferent  is  the  conduct  of  the  female  peasantry  in  tho 
eastern  counties  of  England,  who  unblushingly  avow  their  dere- 
lictions from  the  paths  of  virtue.  The  crime  of  infanticide,  so 
common  there,  is  almost  unknown  among  the  Irish.  If  tho 
priest  and  the  confessional  aro  able  to  restrain  the  lower  orders 
from  the  commission  of  gross  crime,  who  shall  say  that  they  are 
without  their  use  ?  It  h  true  that  the  priest  often  exercises  his 
power  over  his  flock  in  a  manner  which  would  appear  to  a  Pro- 
testant to  border  on  the  ludicrous. 

A  girl  who  lived  with  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  gave  tho 
following  graphic  account  of  an  exhortation  delivered  by  the 
priest  at  the  altar.    I  give  it  in  her  own  words : — 


I 


It 

"H. 

r 


day. 

and 

I'ete 

ainpl 

not 

nion 

year 

you 

Hpint  i 

nuite  ( 

llO    (1(11 

Aldeni 
and  pf 
day  ? 
Joiin  r 
The  I 
dernian 
t^portsm, 
the  uuki 
Such  i 
congregt 
wits;  bi 
abstract! 
I'eter  N- 
haros  on 
Most  ( 
winch  al 
men,  to  \ 
"I  wis] 
the  jolly, 
old  servai 
eight,  to  I 

"D 

of  inimiti 
alono  twir 
Was  a  pro] 
tlio  youthl 


I.IFK    IN    THK    f'LEAniVOfl. 


2.1 


rotofltant 
iiarkb  hit! 
than  tho 

58811088  of 

their  om- 
;ivo  their 
hich  tliey 
llgfl  of  to- 

a  mo,  after 

not  a  hair 

ited  object 

ed  to  order 

.  their  Inn- 
1  fault  with 
t  novor  for 
by  over  in- 
oso  convor- 

Mty,  "that 
gin  hlushy 

j^ardcd  as  a 
ever,  gets 
taiu  on  her 

Intry  in  tho 
I  their  dero- 
lanticide,  so 
Ih.     If  tho 
Iwor  orders 
|at  they  are 
[tercises  his 
to  a  Pro- 

[o,  gave  tho 
i-cd  by  the 


*' Shiiro,  Ma'am,  \vo  gut  a  great  scoiild  from  tlio  pranto  tho 
day."  "Indeed,  Itiddy,  what  ditl  lie  soohl  you  for  ?"  "  Kaix, 
and  it's  not  inoHilf  that  ho  Hcoulded  at  all,  at  all,  Imt  Misthcr 
I'eter  N and  John  li ,  an'  he  held  them  np  as  an  ox- 


aniple  to  the  ■whole  church.     '  Peter  N '  ways  he,  'you  havo 

not  been  inside  tliis  church  boloro  to-day  for  tlie  last  throe 
montlis,  and  you  havo  not  paid  y«»i:r  pew-rent  for  tho  last  two 
years.  ]{ut,  mayl»e,  you  havo  got  the  fourteen  dollars  in 
your  pocketa  at  this  moment  of  Hpaking;  or  maybo  you  liavo 
spint  it  in  buying  pigiron  to  make  gridirons,  in  order  to  fry  )i)nr 
mate  of  a  Friday  ;  and  when  your  jirasto  conies  to  visit  you,  if 

he  does  not  seo  it  itself,  he  smells  it.     And  you,  John  \j , 

Alderman  L ,  are  not  six  days  enough  in  tho  week  for  work 

atul  pastime,  that  you  must  go  hunting  of  hares  on  a  holi- 
day ?  And  pray  how  many  hares  did  you  catch,  Alderm'Ui 
Jo'hn?'" 

The  i)oint  of  tho  last  satire  lay  in  tho  fact  that  tho  said  Al- 
derman John  was  known  to  bo  an  and)itious,  but  very  poor, 
sportsman ;  which  made  tho  allusion  to  tho  hca^ea  ha  had  shot 
the  unkindest  cut  of  all. 

Such  an  oration  from  a  Protestant  minister  would  have  led  his 
congregation  to  imagine  that  their  good  pastor  had  lost  Ins 
wits;  but  I  havo  no  doubt  that  it  was  eminer^ly  successful  in 
abstracting  the  fourteen  dollars  from  the  pocket  of  tho  dilatory 

Peter  N ,  and  in  preventing  Alderman  John  from  liunting 

hares  on  a  holiday  for  tho  time  to  come. 

Most  of  tho  Irish  priests  possess  a  great  deal  of  hnmonr, 
which  always  finds  a  response  in  their  mirth-loving  country- 
men, to  whom  wit  is  a  quality  of  native  growth. 

"  I  wish  you   a  happy  death,  Pat  S  "  said  Mr.  R , 

the  jolly,  black-browed  priest  of  P ,  after  he  had  married  an 

old  servant  of  ours,  who  had  reached  the  patriarchal  age  of  sixty- 
eight,  to  an  old  woman  of  seventy. 

"  D clear  of  it  I"  quoth  Pat,  smiling  his  thigh,  with  a  look 

of  inimitable  drollery, — such  a  look  of  broad  humour  as  can 
alone  twinkle  from  the  eyes  of  an  emeralder  of  that  class.  Pat 
was  a  prophet;  in  less  than  six  months  he  brought  the  body  of 
the  youthful  bride  in  a  wagon  to  tho  house  of  the  said  priest  to 


■  » 


24 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEARINGS. 


bo  burietl,  and,  for  auglit  I  know  to  tlie  contrary,  the  old  man  is 
living  still,  and  very  likely  to  treat  himself  to  a  third  wife. 

I  was  told  two  amnsing  anecdotes  of  the  late  Bishop  Macdon- 
ald ;  a  man  whose  memory  is  held  in  great  veneration  in  the 
province,  which  I  will  give  you  here. 

The  old  bishop  was  crossing  the  Rice  Lake  in  a  birch  bark 
canoe,  in  company  with  Mr.  R  ,  the  Presbyterian  minister  of 
Peterboro' ;  the  day  was  rather  stormy,  and  the  water  rough  for 
such  a  fragile  conveyance.  The  bishop,  who  had  been  many 
years  in  the  country,  knew  there  was  little  danger  to  be  appre- 
hended if  they  5^  it  still,  and  he  had  perfect  reliance  in  the  skill 

of  their  Indian  boatman.     Not  so  Mr.  R ,  he  had  only  been 

a  few  months  in  the  colony,  and  this  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  ventured  upon  the  water  in  such  a  tottleish  machine.  In- 
stead of  remaining  quietly  seated  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  ho 
endeavoured  to  start  to  his  feet,  which  would  inevitably  have 
upset  it.  This  rash  movement  was  prevented  by  the  bishop,  who 
forcibly  pulled  him  down  into  a  sitting  posture,  exclaiming,  as 
ho  did  so,  "Keep  still,  my  good  sir;  if  you,  by  your  groundless 
fears,  upset  the  canoe,  your  protestant  friends  will  swear  that  the 
old  papist  drowned  the  presbyterian." 

One  hot,  sultry  July  evening,  the  celebrated  Dr.  Dunlop  called 
to  have  a  chat  with  the  bishop,  who,  knowing  the  doctor's  weak 
point,  his  fondness  for  strong  drinks,  and  his  almost  rabid  anti- 
pathy to  water,  asked  him  if  he  would  take  a  draught  of  Edin- 
burgh ale,  as  he  had  just  received  a  cask  in  a  present  from  the 
old  country.  The  doctor's  thirst  grew  to  a  perfect  drought,  and 
he  exclaimed  "  that  nothing  at  that  moment  could  afford  him 
greater  pleasure." 

The  bell  was  rung ;  the  spruce,  neat  servant  girl  appeared,  and 
was  forthwith  commissioned  to  take  the  bishop's  own  silver  tank- 
ard and  draw  the  thirsty  doctor  a  pint  of  ale. 

The  girl  quickly  returned;  the  impatient  doctor  grasped  the 
nectarian  draught,  and,  without  glancing  into  the  tankard — for 
the  time. 

"  Was  that  soft  hour  Hwixt  summer's  eve  and  close," — 


< 


lor 
ter  !■ 

11 1 

SOIK 

u  I 

Still 


emptied  the  greater  part  of  its  contents  down  his  throat.    A 


UFK    IN    TIIK    CLEARINGS. 


25 


old  man  is 
1  -wife. 
op  Macdon- 
ition  in  the 

I  birch  bark 
1  minister  of 
er  rough  for 

been  many 
to  be  appre- 

in  the  skill 
d  only  been 
time  he  had 
lachine.  In- 
the  canoe,  he 
jvitably  have 
i  bishop,  who 
ixclaiming,  as 
ir  groundless 
wear  that  the 

)unlop  called 
octor's  weak 
t  rabid  anti- 
:ht  of  Edin- 
nt  from  the 
drought,  and 
d  afford  him 

ipeared,  and 
L  silver  tank- 

Igrasped  the 
lankard — for 


se,"- 


throat.    A 


spasmodic  contortion  and  a  siulikurush  to  the  open  window  sur- 
prLsed  the  hospitable  bishop,  wlio  had  anticipated  a  great  treat 
for  Ills  guest :  "  My  dear  sir,"  ho  cried,  "  what  can  be  the  mat- 
ter!" 

"Oh,  that  diabolical  stuff!"  groaned  the  doctor.  "I  am  poi- 
soned. , 

"Oh,  never  fear,"  said  the  bishop,  examining  the  liquid  that, 
still  remained  in  the  tankard,  anu  bursting  into  a  hearty  laup;!i, 
"  Jt  may  not  agree  with  a  Protestant's  stomach,  but  believe  nu', 
dear  doctor,  you  never  took  such  a  wholesome  drink  in  yourlil't^ 
ht'tore.  I  was  lately  sent  from  Rome  a  cask  of  holy  water, — it, 
stands  in  tlie  same  cellar  with  the  ale, — I  put  a  little  salt  into  it, 
in  order  to  preserve  it  during  this  hot  weather,  and  tlie  girl,  l)y 
mistake,  has  given  you  the  consecrated  water  instead  of  the 
ale." 

"Oh,  curse  her!"  cried  the  tortured  doctor.  "I  wish  it  was 
in  her  stomach  instead  of  mine  I" 

The  bishop  used  to  tell  this  story  with  great  glee  whenever 
Dr.  Dunlop  and  his  eccentric  habits  formed  the  theme  of  con- 
versation. 

Tluit  tlio  Catholics  do  not  always  act  with  hostility  towards 
their  Protestant  brethren,  the  following  anecdote,  which  it  gives 
mo  great  pleasure  to  relate,  will  sufficiently  show  : — 

In  the  December  of  18-10  we  had  the  misfortune  to  be  burnt 
out,  and  lost  a  great  part  of  our  furniture,  clothing,  and  winter 
stores.  Poor  as  Ave  tJioi  were,  this  could  not  be  regarded  in  any 
other  light  but  as  a  great  calamity.  During  the  confusion  occa- 
sioned by  the  fire,  and,  owing  to  the  negligence  of  a  servant  to 
whose  care  he  Avas  especially  confided,  my  youngest  child,  u  fine 
boy  of  two  years  old,  Avas  for  some  time  missing.  The  agony  I 
endured  for  about  half  an  hour  I  shall  ncA'er  forget.  The  roar- 
ing flames,  the  impending  misfortune  that  hung  over  us,  was 
forgotten  in  tlio  terror  that  shook  my  mind  lest  he  had  become  a 
victim  to  the  flames.  He  Avas  at  length  found  by  a  kind  neigh- 
bour in  the  kitchen  of  the  burning  building,  whither  he  had 
crept  from  among  the  croAvd,  and  Avas  scarcely  rescued  before 
the  roof  fell  in. 

This  circumstance  shook  my  nerves  so  completely  that  I  gladly 

2 


!      ^l 


20 


LIFE    IK    THE    CLKAKINGS. 


accepted  tho  ofFer  of  a  female  friend  to  leave  the  exciting  scene, 
and  make  her  house  my  homo  nntil  we  could  procure  another. 

I  was  sitting  at  lier  parlour  window,  with  tho  rescued  child 
on  my  lap,  whom  I  could  not  hear  for  a  moment  out  of  my 
sight,  watching  tho  smoking  brands  that  had  once  composed  my 
home,  and  sadRy  pondering  over  our  untoward  destiny,  when 

Mrs. 's  servant  told  mo  that  a  gentleman  >>  anted  to  see  mo 

in  the  drawing-room. 

With  little  Johnnie  still    in  my  arms  I  went  to  receive  tho 

visitor ;  and  found  tho  Rev.  Father  B ,  the  worthy  Catholic 

priest,  waiting  to  receive  me. 

At  that  time  I  know  very  little  of  Father  I> .     Calls  had 

been  exchanged,  and  we  had  been  much  pleased  with  his  cour- 
teous manners  and  racy  Irish  wit.  I  shall  never  forget  tho 
kind,  earnest  manner  in  which  ho  condoled  with  me  on  our 
present  misfortune.  lie  did  not,  however,  confine  his  symi)athy 
to  words,  but  offering  me  tho  use  of  his  neat  cottage  until  we 
could  provide  ourselves  with  another  house. 

"You  know,"  ho  said,  with  a  benevolent  smile,  "I  have  no 
family  to  be  disturbed  by  the  noise  of  the  children ;  and  if  you 
will  accept  tho  temporary  home  I  ofl:er  you,  it  is  entirely  at  your 
service;  and,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice,  "if  the  sheriff 
is  in  want  of  money  to  procure  necessaries  for  his  family,  I  can 
supply  him  nntil  such  time  as  he  is  able  to  repay  me." 

This  was  truly  noble,  and  I  thanked  him  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 
We  did  not  accept  tho  generous  offer  of  this  good  Samaritan ; 
but  we  have  always  felt  a  grateful  remembrance  of  his  kindness. 

Mr.  B had  been  one  of  tho  most  active  among  the  many 

gentlemen  who  did  their  best  in  trying  to  save  our  property  from 
the  flames,  a  great  portion  of  which  was  safely  conveyed  to  tho 
street.  But  here  a  system  of  pillage  Avas  carried  on  by  the  heart- 
less beings,  who  regard  fires  and  wreck  as  their  especial  harvest, 
wl  ich  entirely  frustrated  tho  efforts  of  the  generous  and  brave 
men  who  had  done  so  much  to  help  us. 

How  many  odd  things  happen  during  a  fire,  which  would  call 
up  a  hearty  laugh  upon  a  less  serious  occasion.  I  saw  one  man 
pitch  a  handsome  chamberglass  out  of  an  upper  v.-indoAv  into 
the  street,  in  order  to  save  it;  while  another,  at  the  risk  of  his 


lif 

Ic 

his 

wi 

of 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUING8. 


27 


ting  scene, 
)  another, 
cued  chil'l 
out  of  my 
Tiposed  my 
tiny,  when 
1  to  see  ino 

[•eceive  tho 

liy  Catholic 

Calls  had 
;h  his  cour- 

forget  tho 
me  on  oui* 
is  sympathy 
igc  until  we 

' I  have  no 
and  if  you 

i-ely  at  your 
the  slieriff 
.mily,  I  can 

lin  my  eyes. 
ISamaritan ; 
Is  kindness, 
the  many 
|perty  from 
|yed  to  tho 
the  heart- 
lal  harvest, 
and  bravo 

hvould  call 

one  man 

Indow  into 

•isk  of  his 


life,  carried  a  bottomless  china  jug,  which  had  long  been  use- 
less, down  the  burning  staircase,  and  seemed  quite  elated  with 
his  success;  and  a  carpenter  took  oft'  tho  doors,  and  removed  tlio 
window-sashes,  in  order  to  preserve  tliem,  and,  by  sending  a  rusli 
of  air  through  the  burning  edifice,  accelerated  its  destruction. 

At  that  time  there  was  only  one  fire-engine  in  the  town,  and 
that  was  not  in  a  state  to  work.  Now  they  have  two  excellent 
engines,  worked  by  an  active  and  energetic  body  of  men. 

In  all  the  principal  towns  and  cities  in  the  colony,  a  large  por- 
tion of  the  younger  male  inhabitants  enrol  themselves  into  a 
company  for  the  suppression  of  lire.  It  is  a  voluntary  service, 
from  which  they  receive  no  emolument,  without  an  exemption 
from  filling  tbe  office  of  a  juryman  may  bo  considered  as  an  ad- 
vantage. These  men  act  upon  a  principle  of  mutual  safety  ;  and 
the  exertions  which  are  made  by  them,  in  the  hour  of  danger 
are  truly  wonderful,  and  serve  to  show  what  can  be  efTected  by 
men  Avhen  they  work  in  unison  together. 

To  tho  Canadian  fire-companies  tho  public  is  indebted  for  the 
preservation  of  life  and  property  by  a  thousand  heroic  acts ; — 
deeds,  that  would  be  recorded  as  surprising  efforts  of  liuinan 
courage,  if  performed  upon  the  battle-field  ;  and  which  often  ex- 
hibit an  exalted  benevolence,  when  jjxercised  in  rescuing  help- 
less women  and  children  from  such  a  dreadful  enemy  as  fire. 

The  costume  adopted  by  tho  firemen  is  rather  becoming  than 
otherwise: — a  tight-fitting  frock-coat  of  coarse  rod  cloth,  and 
white  trousers  in  summer,  which  latter  portion  of  their  dress  is 
exchanged  for  dark  blue  in  the  winter.  They  wear  a  glazed 
black  leather  cap,  of  a  military  cut,  when  they  assemble  to  work 
their  engines,  or  walk  in  procession ;  and  a  leather  hat  like  a 
sailor's  nor'-wester,  with  a  long  peak  behind,  to  protect  them 
from  injury,  when  on  active  duty. 

Their  members  are  confined  to  no  particular  class.  Gentlemen 
and  mechanics  work  side  by  side  in  this  fraternity,  with  a  zeal 
and  right  good  will  that  is  tr..ly  edifying.  Their  system  appears 
an  excellent  one;  and  I  never  heard  of  any  dissension  among 
their  ranks  when  their  services  were  required.  Tho  sound  of 
tho  ominous  bell  calls  them  to  tho  spot,  from  the  greatest  dis- 


'ii 


28 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUINtSB. 


tance;  and,  during  the  most  stormy  niglits,  whoever  skulks  in 
bed,  the  fireman  is  sure  to  be  at  his  post. 

Once  a  year,  the  diflfercnt  divisions  of  the  company  walk  in 
l)rocession  through  the  town.  On  this  occasion  their  engines  are 
dressed  up  with  flags  bearing  appropriate  mottoes;  and  they 
are  preceded  by  a  ban-  of  music.  The  companies  are  generally 
composed  of  men  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  and  they  make  a  very 
imposing  appearance.  It  is  always  a  great  gala  day  in  the  town, 
and  terminates  with  a  public  dinner;  that  is  followed  by  a  ball 
in  the  evening,  at  which  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  members 
of  the  company  are  expected  to  appear. 

Once  a  month  tlie  firemen  are  called  out  to  practise  with  the 
engine  in  the  streets,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  all  the  boys  in  the 
neighbourhood,  who  follow  the  engine  in  crowds,  and  provoke 
the  operators  to  turn  the  hose  and  play  upon  their  merry  ranko: 
and  then  what  laughing  and  shouting  and  scampering  in  all 
directions,  as  the  ragged  urchins  shako  their  dripping  garments, 
and  fly  from  the  ducking  tliey  had  courted  a  few  miuutcs 
bcfi  )re ! 

The  number  of  wooden  buildings  that  compose  the  larger  pnr- 
tinn  of  Canadian  towns  renders  fire  a  calamity  of  very  frequent 
occurrence,  and  persons  cannot  be  too  particular  in  regard  to  it. 
The  negligence  of  one  ignorant  servant  in  the  die^posal  of  her 
ashes,  may  involve  the  safety  of  the  whole  community. 

As  long  as  tlie  generality  of  the  houses  are  roofed  with  shin- 
gles, this  liability  to  fire  musi  exist  as  a  necessary  consequence. 

The  shingle  is  a  very  thin  pine-board,  which  is  used  throughout 
the  colony  instead  of  vslate  or  tiles.  After  a  few  years,  the  iieat 
and  rain  roughen  the  outward  surface,  and  give  it  a  woolly 
appearance,  rendering  the  shingles  as  inflauunable  as  tinder.  A 
.spark  from  a  chinmey  may  be  conveyed  from  a  great  distance  on 
a  windy  day,  and  lighting  upon  the  furry  surface  of  these  roofs, 
is  sure  to  ignite.  The  danger  spreads  on  all  sides,  and  the  roofs 
of  a  whole  street  will  be  burning  before  the  fire  communicates  to 
the  walls  of  the  buildings. 

So  many  destructive  fires  have  occurred  of  late  years  through- 
out the  colony  that  a  law  has  been  enacted  by  the  municipal 


% 


con 
citit 
the 
T 


I  i 


1,1  yK    IN    rilK    C'l.RAUIN'OH. 


20 


skulks  in 

ly  walk  in 
engines  aro 
and  they 
B  generally 
;ake  a  very 
I  the  town, 
d  hy  a  hall 
e  menihers 

0  with  tho 
boys  in  the 
id  provoke 
jrry  raiiko: 
ring  in  all 
f  garments, 
w  minutes 

larger  por- 

y  frequent 

ard  to  it. 

sal  of  her 

with  shin- 
kequcnee. 
Ihroughout 
f,  the  heat 

a  woolly 
[inder,  A 
listance  on 
^ese  root's, 

the  roofs 
Inicates  to 

through- 
bmnicipal 


councils  to  prevent  tlic  erection  of  wooden  huildings  in  tho  largo 
citios.  IJiU  without  the  additional  precaution  of  lire-proof  roofs, 
the  prohibition  will  not  i)roduce  very  benellciul  elFects. 

Two  other  very  pr^^'tty  churches  occupy  tlie  same  hill  with  tho 
Calliohc  and  Ei)i.sc(ipal, — the  Scotcli  liesiduary,  and  tlie  Free 
C'liurch.  Tho  latter  is  built  of  dark  limestone,  quarried  in  tho 
ncighboiu'hood,  and  is  a  remarkably  graceful  structure.  It  has 
been  raised  by  tho  hearty  goodwill  and  free  donations  of  its  con- 
gregation ;  and  atlbrds  another  cai)ital  illustration  of  the  working 
of  the  voluntary  principle. 

To  the  soul-fettering  doctrines  of  John  Calvin  I  am  myself  no 
convert;  nor  do  I  tliink  that  tlie  churclies  established  on  his 
views  will  very  long  exist  in  tho  world.  Stern,  uncotnpromising^ 
unlovcble  and  unloved,  an  object  of  fear  rather  than  of  alfection, 
John  Calvin  stands  out  the  incarnation  of  his  own  Deity ;  verify- 
ing one  of  tho  noblest  and  truest  sentences  ever  penned  by  man ; 
— ''As  the  man,  so  his  God.  God  is  his  idea  of  excellence, — tho 
comjdiment  of  his  own  being." 

The  liesiduary  church  is  a  small  neat  building  of  wood,  painted 
white.  For  several  years  after  tho  great  split  in  tho  National 
Church  of  Scotland,  it  was  shut  up,  tlio  few  who  still  adhered  to 
the  old  way  being  unable  to  contribute  much  to  the  support  of 
a  minister.  The  church  has  heen  reopened  within  the  last  two 
years,  and,  though  the  congregation  is  very  small,  has  a  regular 
pastor. 

The  large  edifice  beneath  us,  in  Pinacle-street,  leading  to  tho 
bay,  is  tlie  AVesleyan  Methodist  churcli,  or  chapel,  as  it  would  bo 
termed  at  home.  Thanks  to  the  liberal  institutions  of  tho 
country,  such  distinctions  aro  unknown  in  Canada.  Every 
connnunity  of  Christian  worshippers  is  rightly  termed  a  church. 
The  Ch  itrch  is  only  arrogated  by  one. 

Tho  Wesleyans,  who  have  been  of  infinite  use  in  spreading  the 
Gospel  on  the  North  American  continent,  possess  a  numerous 
and  highly  respectable  congregation  in  this  place.  Their  church 
is  always  supplied  Avith  good  and  etlicient  preachers,  and  is  filled 
on  the  Sabbath  to  overflowing.  They  have  a  very  fine  choir, 
and  lately  purchased  an  organ,  which  was  constructed  by  one  of 


!  ii. 


M 


30 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


tlioir  own  inemberp,  a  f,'eniu3  in  his  way,  fur  wliicli  tliey  gave  tho 
handsome  sum  of  a  thousand  dollars. 

There  is  also  an  Episcopal  Methodist  church,  composed  of  red 
brick,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  town,  by  the  river  side,  which  is 
well  attended. 

You  can  scarcely  adopt  a  better  plan  of  judging  of  the  wealth 
and  prosperity  of  a  town,  than  by  watching,  of  a  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, tho  congregations  of  the  ditfercut  denominations  going  to 
church. 

Belleville  weekly  presents  to  the  eye  of  an  observing  spectator 
a  large  body  of  well-dressed,  happy-looking  people, — robust, 
healthy,  independent  looking  men,  and  well-formed,  liandsome 
women; — an  air  of  content  and  comfort  resting  upon  their 
comely  faces, — no  look  of  haggard  care  and  pinching  want 
marring  the  quiet  solemnity  of  the  scene. 

The  dress  of  the  higher  class  is  not  only  cut  in  the  newest 
French  fashion,  imported  from  New  York,  but  is  generally  com- 
])osed  of  ricli  and  expensive  materials.  The  Canadian  lady 
dresses  well  and  tastefully,  and  carries  herself  easily  and  grace- 
fully. She  is  not  unconscious  of  the  advantages  of  a  pretty  face 
and  figure;  but  her  knowledge  of  the  fact  is  not  exhibited  in  an 
affected  or  disagreeable  manner.  The  lower  class  are  not  a  whit 
behind  their  Avealthier  neighbours  in  outward  adornments.  And 
the  poor  emigrant,  m  ho  only  a  few  months  previously  had  landed 
in  rags,  is  now  dressed  neatly  and  respectably.  The  conscious- 
ness of  their  newly-acquired  freedom  has  raised  them  in  the  scale 
of  society,  in  their  own  estimation,  and  in  that  of  their  fellows. 
They  feel  that  they  are  no  longer  despised;  the  ample  wagea 
they  receive  has  enabled  them  to  cast  off  the  slough  of  hopeless 
poverty,  which  once  threw  its  deadening  influence  over  them, 
repressing  all  their  energies,  and  destroying  that  self-respect 
which  is  so  necessary  to  mental  improvement  and  self-govern- 
ment. The  change  in  their  condition  is  apparent  in  their  smiling, 
satisfied  faces. 

This  is,  indeed,  a  delightful  contrast  to  the  squalid  want  and 
poverty  which  so  often  meet  the  eye,  and  pain  the  heart  of  tho 
philanthropist  at  home.    Canada  is  blessed  in  the  almost  total 


i 


absel 
need 
wit  111 
Tlj 
at  G(j 
residl 
King! 
sprea| 
this 
witli 


Ml 

I 
I 
( 
I  1 


LIFK    IN    Tin:    CLEAUINOS. 


31 


gave  tho 


3d  of  red 
which  is 

le  weaUh 
ith  morn- 
going  to 


spectator 
— robust, 
:mndsoine 
)oii  their 
ing  want 

le  newest 
•ally  com- 
lian   lady 

td  grace- 
etty  face 
ted  in  an 
ot  a  whit 
ts.     And 
d  landed 
snscious- 
the  scale 
fellows, 
e  wages 
hopeless 
r  them, 
respect 
govern- 
|Smiling, 

int  and 

of  tho 

ht  total 


absence  of  pauperism ;  for  none  but  the  wilfully  idle  and  vicious 
need  starve  here,  while  the  wants  of  tho  sick  and  infirm  meet 
witli  ready  help  and  sympathy  from  a  most  charitable  public. 

The  Wc^leyan  Methodists  wisely  placed  their  buryiug-ground 
at  some  distance  from  tho  town;  and  when  we  first  came  to 
reside  at  Belleville,  it  was  a  retired  and  lovely  sjjot,  on  tho 
Kingston  road,  con-unanding  a  fine  view  of  tho  bay.  The  rajjid 
spread  of  the  village  into  a  town  almost  embraces  in  its  arms 
this  once  sofitary  sjjot,  and  in  a  few  years  it  will  bo  surrounded 
with  suburban  residences. 

There  is  a  very  large  brick  field  adjoining  this  cemetery,  Avhich 
employs  during  the  summer  months  a  nund)cr  of  hands. 

Turn  to  the  north,  and  observe  that  old-fashioned,  red-brick 
house,  now  tottering  to  decay,  that  crowns  the  precipitous  ridgo 
that  overlooks  the  river,  and  which  doubtless  at  some  very  dis- 
tant ])eriod  once  formed  its  right  bank.  That  house  was  built  by 
one  of  tho  first  settlers  in  Belleville,  an  officer  who  drew  his  lot 
of  wild  land  on  that  s])ot.  It  was  a  great  house  in  those  days, 
and  he  was  a  great  man  in  the  eyes  of  his  poorer  neighbours. 

This  gentleman  impoverished  himself  and  his  family  by  sup- 
plying from  his  own  means  tho  Avants  of  the  i)Oor  emigrants  in 
hit'  vicinity  during  the  great  Canadian  famine,  which  happened 
about  fifty  years  ago.  The  starving  creatures  promised  to  repay 
liim  at  some  future  period.  Plenty  again  blessed  tho  land ;  but 
the  generous  philanthropist  was  forgotten  by  those  his  bounty 
had  saved.  Peace  to  his  memory!  Though  unrewarded  on 
earth,  he  has  doubtless  reaped  his  reward  in  heaven. 

The  river  Moira,  which  runs  parallel  with  the  main  street  of 
the  town,  and  traverses  several  fine  townships  belonging  to  tho 
county  of  Hastings  in  its  course  to  the  bay,  is  a  rapid  and  very 
picturesque  stream.  Its  rocky  banks,  which  are  composed  of 
limestone,  are  fringed  with  tho  graceful  cedar,  soft  maple,  and 
elegant  rock  elm,  that  queen  of  the  Canadian  forest.  It  is  not 
navigable,  but  is  one  great  source  of  tho  wealth  and  prosperity 
of  the  place,  aflfording  all  along  its  course  excellent  sites  for  mills, 
distilleries,  and  factories,  while  it  is  tho  main  road  down  which 
millions  of  feet  of  timber  are  yearly  floated,  to  be  rafted  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bay. 


f! 


n2 


I.IFK    IN"    TIIK    CLEAIUKfiS. 


Tlio  spring  Hoods  bring  down  sucli  u  vast  iiinonnt  of  lumber, 
that  often  a  jam,  ns  it  is  tecbnically  called,  places  the  two 
bridges  that  span  the  river  in  n  state  of  blockade. 

It  is  a  stirring  and  amusing  scene  to  watch  the  French  Cana- 
dian lumberers,  "with  their  long  poles,  armed  at  the  end  with 
sharp  spikes,  leaping  from  log  to  log,  and  freei)ig  a  passage  for 
the  crowded  timbers. 

Handsome  in  person,  and  litho  and  active  as  wild-cats,  you 
would  imagine,  to  "watch  their  careless  disregard  of  danger,  that 
they  were  born  of  the  waters,  and  considered  death  by  drown- 
ing an  impossible  casualty  in  their  case.  Yet  never  a  season 
passes  without  fatal  accidents  thinning  their  gay,  light-hearted 
ranks. 

These  amphibious  creatures  spend  half  their  lives  in  and  on 
the  waters.  They  work  hard  in  forming  rafts  at  the  entrance 
of  the  bay  during  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  they  repair  to 
some  favorite  tavern,  where  they  spend  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  in  singing  and  dancing.  Their  peculiar  cries  awaken  you 
by  day-break,  and  their  joyous  shouts  and  songs  are  wafted  on 
the  evening  breeze.  Their  picturesque  dress  and  shanties,  when 
shown  by  their  red  watch-tires  along  the  rocky  oanks  of  the 
river  at  night,  add  great  liveliness,  and  give  a  peculiarly  romantic 
character  to  the  water  scene. 

They  appear  a  happy,  harmless  set  of  men,  brave  and  inde- 
pendent; and  if  drinking  and  SAvearing  are  vices  common  to 
their  caste  and  occupation,  it  can  scarcely  be  wondered  at  in  the 
wild,  reckless,  roving  life  they  lead.  They  never  trouble  the 
peaceful  inhabitants  of  the  town.  Their  broils  are  cliiefly  con- 
fined to  their  Irish  comrades,  and  seldom  go  beyond  the  scene  of 
their  mutual  labour.  It  is  not  often  that  they  find  tlieir  way 
into  the  jail  or  penitentiary. 

A  young  lady  told  me  of  an  adventure  that  befel  her  and  her 
sister,  which  is  rather  a  droll  illustration  of  the  manners  of  a 
French  Canadian  lumberov.  They  were  walking  one  fine  sum- 
mer evening  along  the  w(  ..<,  bank  of  the  Moira,  and  the  narrator, 
iu  stooping  over  the  water  to  gather  some  wild  flowers  that  grew 
in  a  crevice  of  the  rocks,  dropped  her  parasol  into  the  river.  A 
cry  of  vexation  at  the  loss  of  an  article  of  dress,  wliich  is  expeu- 


81  vol 
sump 
a  yJ 
minj 
and 
him,| 
(log- 
in! 
lliat 
start  1 
their 


nd  her 
of  a 
3  sum- 
rrator, 
grew 
r.  A 
xpeu- 


1 


4 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAHING8. 


83 


sivc,  and  almost  indispensable  bencatli  tlio  rays  of  n  Canadian 
suninier  sun,  burst  fri>ni  her  lii)s,  and  ahracted  the  attention  of 
a  ycMing  man  whom  slie  had  not  before  observed,  who  was  swim- 
minj;  at  some  distance  down  tlie  river,  lie  immediately  Inrned, 
and  dexterously  catching  the  paranol  as  it  swiftly  glided  past 
him,  swam  towards  the  ladies  with  tbo  rescued  article,  carried 
dog-fashion,  between  his  teeth. 

In  his  zeal  to  render  this  little  service,  the  poor  fellow  forgot 
that  ho  was  not  in  a  condition  to  appear  before  ladies;  who, 
startled  at  such  an  extraordinary  apparition,  made  the  best  of 
their  heels  to  lly  precipitately  from  the  spot. 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Miss ,  laughing,   "that  the 

good-natured  fellow  meant  well,  but  I  never  was  so  frightened 
and  confounded  in  my  life.  The  next  morning  the  i<arasol  was 
returned  at  the  street  door,  with  "Jean  Baptisto's  conipliments 
to  the  young  ladies."     So  much  for  French  Canadian  gallantry. 

It  is  a  pretty  sight.  A  largo  raft  of  timber,  extending  perhai)3 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  gliding  down  the  bay  in  tow  of  a  steamer, 
decorated  with  red  flags  and  green  pine  boughs,  and  managed  by 
a  set  of  bold  active  fellows,  whoso  jovial  songs  waken  up  the 
echoes  of  the  lonely  woods.  I  have  seen  several  of  these  rafts, 
containing  many  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  timber,  taking  their 
downward  course  in  one  day. 

The  centre  of  the  raft  is  generally  occupied  by  a  shanty  and 
cooking  apparatus,  and  at  night  it  presents  an  imposing  specta- 
cle, seen  by  the  red  light  of  their  fires,  as  it  glides  beneath  tho 
shadow  of  some  lofty  bank,  with  its  dark  overhanging  trees. 
I  have  often  coveted  a  sail  on  those  picturesque  rafts,  over  those 
smooth  moonlighted  waters. 

The  spring-floods  bring  with  them  a  great  quantity  of  waste 
timber  and  fallen  trees  from  the  interior ;  and  it  is  amusing  to 
watch  the  poor  Irishwomen  and  children  wading  to  the  waist  in 
tho  water,  and  drawing  out  these  waifs  and  strays  with  hooked 
sticks,  to  supply  their  shanties  with  fuel.  It  is  astonishing  how 
much  an  industrious  lad  can  secure  in  a  day  of  this  refuse  tim- 
ber. No  gleaner  ever  enters  a  harvest-field  in  Canada  to  secure 
a  email  portion  of  tho  scattered  grain ;  but  the  floating  treasures 
which  the  waters  yield  are  regarded  as  a  providential  supply  of 

2* 


11 


;l;    i 


ii  i 


1 

i      1  ' 
'      1 

(     ,  1 

1         ,   1 

i,    I 


H 


/ 


34 


LIFE    IN    TIIR    CLKARINaa. 


firirif?,  wlilcli  is  alwayw  gatliored  in.  Theso  spring-floodfl  aro 
often  pioductive  of  great  inis(;liiof,  as  they  not  unfrcqnontly  carry 
away  all  the  dams  and  bridjjjes  along  their  course.  This  gene- 
rally happens  after  an  unusually  severe  winter,  accompanied 
with  very  heavy  falls  of  snow. 

Tiio  melting  of  the  snows  in  the  back  country,  by  filling  all 
the  tributary  creeks  and  streams,  converts  the  larger  rivers  into 
heaillong  and  destructive  torrents,  that  rush  and  foam  along 
with  "curbless  force,"  carrying  huge  blocks  of  ice  and  largo  tim- 
bers, like  feathers  upon  their  surface. 

It  is  a  grand  and  beautiful  sight,  the  coming  down  of  tho 
waters  during  one  of  those  spring  freshets.  The  river  roars  and 
rages  like  a  chafed  lion ;  and  frets  and  foams  against  its  rocky 
barrier,  as  if  determined  to  overcome  every  obstacle  that  dares 
to  impede  its  furious  course.  Great  blocks  of  ice  aro  seen  pop- 
ping up  and  down  in  the  boiling  surges;  and  unwieldy  saw-logs 
perform  the  most  extravagant  capers,  often  starting  bolt  upright; 
while  their  crystal  neighbours,  enraged  at  the  uncourteous  colli- 
sion, turn  up  their  glittering  sea-green  edges  with  an  air  of  defiance, 
and  tumble  about  in  the  current  like  mad  monsters  of  the  deep. 

These  blocks  of  ice  are  sometimes  lifted  entirely  out  of  the 
water  by  tho  force  of  the  current,  and  deposited  upon  tho  top  of 
he  bank,  where  they  form  an  irregular  wall  of  glass,  glittering 
and  melting  leisurely  in  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

A  stranger  who  had  not  witnessed^thoir  upheaval,  might  well 
wonder  by  what  gigantic  power  they  had  been  placed  there. 

In  March,  1844,  a  severe  winter  was  terminated  by  a  very 
sudden  thaw,  accompanied  by  high  winds  and  deluges  of  rain. 
In  a  few  days  the  snow  was  all  gone,  and  every  slope  and  hill 
was  converted  into  a  drain,  down  which  the  long-imprisoned 
waters  rushed  continuously  to  the  river.  Tho  roads  were  almost 
impassable,  and,  on  the  12th  of  the  month,  the  river  rose  to  an 
unusual  height,  and  completely  fiUed  its  rocky  banks.  Tho  fioods 
brought  down  from  the  interior  a  great  jam  of  ice,  which,  accu- 
mulating in  size  and  altitude  at  every  bridge  and  dam  it  had 
carried  away  in  its  course  towards  the  bay,  was  at  length  arresteil 
in  its  progress  at  the  lower  bridge,  where  the  ice,  though  sunk 
several  feet  below  the  rushing  waters,  still  adhered  firmly  to  tho 


fihor*! 

of  till 

Into, 
It 
tho  i| 

and 

C»)Ill|l| 

ing 
tancel 
iiihali 
gigaii 

A 
and  i 
asun( 
sage 

Th 


;  well 


MKK    IN    illE    CLEAKINUS. 


85 


hlioro.  Vast  plocos  of  ice  wero  piled  up  against  tho  abiUnients 
(if  the  bridge,  whicli  tho  niDimtain  of  ico  tlircateiied  to  annihi- 
lato,  UH  well  as  to  inundate  the  lower  end  <»f  the  town. 

It  presented  to  tho  eager  and  excited  crowd,  who  in  Hpito  of 
the  impending  danger  ruslied  to  tho  devoted  bridge,  a  curious 
and  formidable  Hpcctaele.  Imagine,  dear  reader,  a  huge  nia!*H, 
composed  of  blocks  of  ico,  large  stones,  and  drift  tind)er,  occupy- 
ing tho  centre  of  tho  river,  and  extending  back  for  a  great  dis- 
tance; tlie  top  on  a  level  with  tho  roofd  of  tho  bouses.  Tho 
inhabitants  of  tho  town  had  everything  to  dread  from  such  a 
gigantic  battering-ram  applied  to  their  feeble  wooden  bridge. 

A  consultation  was  held  by  tho  men  assembled  on  tlio  bridge, 
and  it  was  thought  that  tho  danger  might  be  averted  by  sawing 
asuiuler  tho  ico,  which  still  held  firm,  and  allowing  a  free  pas- 
sage for  tlio  blocks  that  impeded  tho  bridge. 

Tho  river  was  soon  covered  with  active  men,  armed  with  axes 
and  poles,  some  freeing  tho  ico  at  the  arch  of  tho  bridge,  others 
attempting  to  push  tho  iceberg  nearer  to  tho  shore,  whore  if  onco 
stranded,  it  woidd  melt  at  leisure.  If  tho  huge  pile  of  mischief 
could  have  fouud  a  voice,  it  would  have  laughed  at  their  fruitless 
endeavours. 

While  watching  tho  men  at  their  dangerous,  and,  as  it  proved 
afterwards,  hopeless  work,  we  witnessed  an  act  of  extraordinary 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  in  two  brothers,  blacksmiths  in 
the  town.  One  of  these  young  men  was  busy  cutting  away  tho 
ice  just  above  tho  bridge,  whoa  quite  unexpectedly  tho  piece  ou 
which  he  was  standing  gave  way,  and  ho  Avas  carried  with  tho 
speed  of  thought  under  tho  bridge.  Ilis  death  appeared  inevita- 
ble. But  quick  as  his  exit  was  from  the  exciting  scene,  the  lovo 
in  tho  brother's  heart  was  as  quick  in  taking  measures  for  his 
safety.  As  the  ico  on  which  the  younger  lad  stood  parted,  tho 
elder  sprang  into  tho  hollow  box  of  wood  which  helped  to  sup- 
port tlio  arch  of  tho  bridge,  and  which  was  filled  with  great 
stones.  As  the  torrent  swept  his  brother  past  him  and  under 
tho  bridge,  the  drowning  youth  gave  a  spring  from  tho  ice  on 
which  he  still  stood,  and  tho  other  bending  at  tho  instant  from 
his  perch  above,  caught  him  by  the  collar,  and  lifted  him  bodily 
from  liis  perilous  situation.    All  was  the  work  of  a  moment ; 


1 

»■  • 

1 

1 

i 

,  li. 


1 1    ' 


t) 


1 1 


30 


Lil'K    IN    TFIi:    fLKAKINdH. 


yet  tho  Hpcctators  lidd  llioir  bivntli,  luid  wondi-rod  ns  tlioy  hw. 
It  was  ail  act  c»f  hold  dariii;,'  on  the  t)iio  hiiiid,  (iI'imxiI  dctcriniiKul 
coiira^o  on  tho  other.  It  was  a  joyful  siglit  to  hoo  tho  roscucd 
lail  in  hJH  hravo  hrothor's  arms. 

All  day  wo  watched  from  tho  hrid^o  tho  hill  of  ice,  wondering 
when  it  would  take  a  fresh  start,  and  if  it  would  carry  away  tho 
Itrid^'o  when  it  left  its  ]»rosent  itosition.  Nijjht  camo  down,  and 
tho  unwolcoino  visitant  remained  slatioiniry.  The  air  was  cold 
and  frosty.  There  was  no  moon,  and  tho  spectators  wore  reluc- 
tantly forced  to  retire  to  their  respective  homos.  Hetween  tho 
watches  of  tho  nij;ht  wo  listened  to  the  roaring'  of  the  river,  and 
speculated  upon  tho  threatened  destruction,  liy  dayhreak  my 
eai^er  hoys  were  upon  the  spot,  to  ascertain  tiio  fate  of  tho 
bridge.  All  was  f,'rim  and  silent.  Tlic  ico  remniued  like  a  giant 
[slumbering  upon  his  prtst. 

.So  i)asscd  tho  greater  part  of  tho  day.  Curiosity  was  worn 
out.  The  crowd  began  to  disperse,  disappointed  tliat  tho  ruin 
they  had  anticii)ated  liad  not  taken  place  ;  just  as  some  persons 
arc  sorry  when  a  fire,  which  has  caused  much  alarm  by  its  coii- 
tnil  position  in  a  town  or  city,  is  extinguished,  w^ithout  burning 
down  a  single  house.  Tlio  love  of  excitement  drowns  for  a  time 
the  better  feelings  of  humanity.  They  don't  wish  any  person  to 
sufler  injury;  but  they  give  up  tho  grand  spectacle  they  had 
expected  to  witness  with  regret. 

At  four  o'clock  in  tho  afternoon  most  of  tho  wonder-watchera 
had  retired,  disgusted  with  tho  tardy  movements  of  the  ico  mon- 
ster, when  a  cry  arose  from  tha  banks  of  the  river,  to  warn  tho 
few  j)erson8  who  still  loitered  on  tlio  bridge,  to  look  out,  Tho 
ico  was  in  motion.  Every  one  within  liearing  rushed  to  the 
ri^  or.  "Wo  happened  to  bo  passing  at  the  time,  and,  liko 
tl.e  rest,  hurried  to  tho  spot.  Tho  vast  pile,  slowly,  almost 
imperceptibly,  began  to  advance,  giving  an  irresistible  impulse 
to  the  shore  ice,  that  still  held  good,  and  which  Avas  instantly 
communicated  to  tho  large  pieces  that  blocked  tho  arch  of  tho 
bridge,  over  whicl^he  waves  now  poured  in  a  torrent,  pushing  be- 
fore them  tho  groat  lumps  wh'ch  up  to  tho  present  moment  had 
befen  immovably  wedged.  There  was  a  liollow,  gurgling  sound,  a 
sullen  roar  of  waters,  a  cracking  and  rending  of  the  ehoro-bound 


1 


LIFK    IK    TflR    CM.RAUIV08. 


37 


liad 
k1,  li 


i 


i 


Jpc,  and  tlio  poiwK'rou.^  iiiohm  sinoto  tlio  briilRO ;  it  pjirtod  aHiindor, 
and  swift  Jis  un  arrow  thocryHtal  iiuumtiiiii  i^didod  downwards  to 
tlio  l)ay,  simrtiiiij^  from  its  l>aso  tlio  waves  that  leaped  uutl 
foaiiu'd  around  its  patli,  aii<l  pouring  tlieni  in  a  tlood  of  waters 
over  the  West  banlv  of  the  river. 

Beyond  the  hissofa  few  old  sheds  along  the  shore,  very  little 
damage  was  sustained  hy  the  town.  The  streets  near  the  wharves 
were  inundated  for  a  few  hours,  and  the  cellars  filled  with  wa- 
ter; but  after  the  exit  of  the  iceberg,  the  river  soon  subsided 
into  its  usual  channel. 

The  winter  of  1852  >vas  one  of  great  length  and  severity.  The 
snow  in  many  of  the  roads  was  level  with  the  top  rail  of  the 
feni'es,  ami  the  spring  thaw  caused  heavy  freshets  liin»iigii  the 
culuny.  In  the  upper  part  of  the  province,  particularly  on  the 
grand  river,  the  rising  of  the  waters  destroyed  a  largo  amount 
of  valuable  mill  property.  One  mill-owner  lost  12,0U0  saw  logs. 
Our  wild,  bright  Moira  was  swollen  to  the  brim,  and  tund)led 
along  with  the  impetuosity  of  a  mountain  torrent.  Its  course 
to  the  bay  was  nnimpeded  by  ice,  which  had  been  all  carried  out 
a  few  days  before  by  a  high  wind ;  but  vast  (juantities  of  saw 
logs  that  had  broken  away  from  their  bosoms  in  the  interior 
were  plunging  in  the  current,  sometimes  starting  bolt  njjright. 
or  turning  over  and  over,  as  if  endued  with  the  spirit  of  life,  as 
well  as  with  that  of  motion. 

Several  of  these  heavy  timbers  liad  struck  the  upper  bridge, 
and  carried  away  the  centre  arch.  A  poor  cow,  who  was  lei- 
surely pacing  over  to  her  shed  and  supper,  was  suddenly  preci- 
pitated into  the  din  of  waters.  Had  it  been  the  mayor  of  the 
town,  the  accident  could  scarcely  have  produced  a  greater  excite- 
ment. The  cow  belonged  to  a  poor  Irishman,  and  the  sympathy 
of  every  one  was  enlisted  in  her  fate.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
could  escape  drowning  amid  sucli  a  mad  roar  of  waves  ?  No 
human  arm  could  stem  for  a  moment  such  a  current;  but  fortu- 
nately for  our  heroine,  she  was  not  human,  but  only  a  stupid 
quadruped. 

The  cow  for  a  few  seconds  seemed  bewildered  at  the  strange 
situation  in  which  she  found  herself  so  unexpectedly  placed. 
13ut  she  was  wise  enough  and  skilful  enough  to  keep  lier  head 


^1 


•» 


1   > 


38 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLRAIIINGS. 


ftbovo  water,  and  slio  cleared  two  mill-datns  before  she  hecamo 
aware  of  the  fact;  and  she  acconiinodated  her.solf  to  lier  critical 
situation  Avitli  a  stoical  indifFercnce  wliicli  would  have  done  cre- 
dit to  an  ancient  pliilo.-oplier.  After  passing  unhurt  over  the 
dams,  the  spectators  who  crowded  the  lower  bridges  to  watch 
the  result,  began  to  entertain  hopes  for  her  life. 

The  bridges  are  in  a  direct  line,  and  about  lialf  a  mile  apart. 
On  came  the  cow,  making  directly  for  the  centre  arch  of  the 
bridge  on  which  wo  stood.  She  certainly  neither  swam,  nor  felt 
her  feet,  but  was  borne  along  by  the  force  of  the  stream. 

"My  eyes!  I  wish  I  could  swim  as  well  as  that  ere  cow," 
cried  an  excited  boy,  leaping  upon  the  top  of  the  bridge. 

"I  guess  you  do,"  said  mother.  "But  that'd  a  game  cow. 
There  is  no  boy  in  the  town  could  beat  her." 

"  She  will  never  pass  the  arch  of  the  bridge,"  said  a  man,  sul- 
lenly ;  "  she  will  be  killed  against  the  abutment." 

"Jolly!  she's  through  the  arch!"  shouted  the  first  speaker. 
"Pat has  saved  his  cow!" 

"  She's  not  ashore  yet,"  returned  the  man.  "  And  she  begins 
to  Hag." 

" Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried  the  excited  l)oy.  "The  old  dai>*y- 
cropper  looks  as  fresh  as  arose.  Hurrah.,  boys!  let  us  run  down 
to  the  wharf,  and  see  what  becomes  of  her." 

Off  scampered  the  juveniles ;  and  on  floated  the  coav,  calm 
and  self-posses?ed  in  the  midst  of  danger.  After  passing  safely 
through  the  arch  of  the  bridge,  she  continued  to  steer  herself  out 
of  the  current,  and  nearer  to  the  shore,  and  finally  eflocted  a 
landing  in  Front-street,  wheie  she  quietly  walked  on  shore,  to 
the  great  admiration  of  the  younj^'sters,  who  received  her  with 
rai)tm-ons  shouts  of  applause.  One  lad  seized  her  by  the  tail, 
another  grasped  her  horns,  while  a  third  patted  her  dripping 
neck,  and  wished  her  joy  of  her  safe  landing.  Not  Venus  her- 
self, when  she  rose  from  the  sea,  attracted  more  eutlnisiaslic  ad- 
mirers than  did  the  poor  Irishman's  cow.  A  party,  composed 
of  all  the  boys  in  the  i)lace,  led  her  in  triumph  through  the 
street?,  and  restored  her  to  her  rightful  owner,  not  forgetting 
to  bestow  upon  her  three  hearty  cheers  at  [  arting. 

A  little  black  boy,  the  only  son  of  a  worthy  negro,  who  had 


1 


hocn  a  sJ 
jis  the  Irl 
from  the! 
hell  of  i 

t    found;  it 
of  the  cu| 
*     armed  w: 
,!     jtaoing  thl 
I     the  remai 
to  him, 
away,  wi 
his  melan 

What 

colour ! 

I     of  pity ! 

*;     interest  in 

I       tlie  cow,  { 

,|     ing  of  a  p 

1        Alas!  t 

eyes  of  lu 

^hc  provir 

shores,  ar 

months  cc 

of  six  yea 

with  as  ra 

log  turns, 

of  being  < 

Oh,  age 

boy  of  si: 

waters. 

and  darkc 

a  girl  -ny 

account  ( 

under  sir 

of  all  tha 


e  hecmno 
II-  critical 
(Idiio  cre- 
over  tlic 
to  watch 

ile  apart. 

!h  of  tlio 

,  nor  felt 

1. 

ro  cow," 

ine  cow. 

nan,  sul- 

speaker. 

e  begins 

1   (lai><y- 
u  down 

Iw,  calm 
safely 
self  out 
looted  a 
lore,  to 
r  -with 
le  tail, 
jrippiiiL,' 
liJ  lier- 
tic  ad- 
|n])()sed 
•h  the 
fcetting 

lo  Lad 


^ 


LIKE    IM    TllK    t'LEAIilNGS. 


39 


been  a  settler  for  many  years  in  Belleville,  was  not  so  forturato 
as  the  Irishman's  cow.  He  was  pushed,  it  is  .^aid  accidentally, 
from  the  broken  bridge,  by  a  white  boy  of  his  own  a^c,  into  that 
hell  of  waters,  and  it  was  many  weeks  before  his  body  was 
found ;  it  had  been  carried  some  miles  down  the  bay  by  the  force 
of  the  current.  Day  after  day  yon  might  see  his  unhapi>y  father, 
armed  with  a  long  pole,  with  a  hook  attached  to  it,  mournfully 
pacing  the  banks  of  the  swollen  river,  in  the  hope  of  recovering 
the  remains  of  his  lost  child.  Once  or  twice  we  stopped  to  speak 
to  hirn,  but  his  heart  was  too  full  to  answer.  He  would  turn 
away,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his  sable  cheeks,  and  resume 
his  melancholy  task. 

What  a  dreadful  thing  is  this  prejudice  against  race  and 
colour!  IIow  it  hardens  the  lieart,  and  locks  up  all  the  avenues 
of  pity !  The  premature  death  of  this  little  negro  excited  less 
interest  in  the  breasts  of  his  white  companions  than  the  fate  of 
the  cow,  and  was  spoken  of  with  as  little  concern  as  the  drown- 
ing of  a  pup  or  a  kitten. 

Alas !  this  river  Moira  has  caused  more  tears  to  flow  from  the 
eyes  of  heart-broken  parents  than  any  stream  of  the  like  size  in 
i!ic  province.  Ileedless  of  danger,  the  children  will  reaort  to  its 
shores,  and  play  upon  the  timbers  that  during  the  summer 
months  cover  its  surface.  Often  have  I  seen  a  fine  child  of  five 
of  six  years  old,  astride  of  a  saw-log,  riding  down  the  current, 
with  as  much  glee  as  if  it  were  a  real  steed  he  bestrode.  If  the 
log  turns,  which  is  often  the  case,  the  child  stands  a  great  chance 
of  being  drowned. 

Oh,  agony  unspeakable!  The  writer  of  this  lost  a  fine  talented 
hoy  of  six  years — one  to  whom  her  soul  clave — in  those  cruel 
waters.  But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  that  dark  hour,  the  saddest 
and  darkest  in  my  sad,  eventful  life.  Many  years  ago,  when  I  was 
a  girl  ^lyself,  my  sympathies  were  deeply  excited  by  reading  an 
account  of  the  grief  of  a  mother  who  had  lost  her  only  child, 
under  similar  circumstances.  IIow  prophetic  wore  those  lines 
of  all  that  I  suffered  during  that  heavy  bereavement ! — 


if 

!r' 


!  I 


I  I 


I    i 


!t 


t; 


<  ! 


1       i 


I       I 


I  I 


1  f 

11 


.I!'|{, 


40 


LIFE    IN    TIIFi    CLEARIN(;S. 


THE  MOTHFIVS  LAMENT. 

*'  Oh,  cold  at  my  feet  tliou  wert  sleeping,  my  boy. 

And  I  press  on  thy  pale  lips  in  vain  the  fond  kiss ! 
Earth  opens  her  arms  to  receive  thee,  my  joy, 

And  all  my  past  sorrows  were  nothing  to  this. 
The  day-star  of  hope  'neath  thine  eye-lid  is  sleeping, 
No  more  to  arise  at  the  voice  of  my  weoping. 

"  Oh,  howr  art  thou  changed,  since  the  light  breath  of  morning 
Dispersed  the  soft  dew-drops  in  showers  from  the  tree ! 
Like  a  beautiful  bud  my  lone  dwelling  adorning, 
Thy  smiles  call'd  up  feelings  of  rapture  in  me  : 
I  thought  not  the  sunbeams  ja,\l  gaily  that  shone 
On  thy  waking,  at  night  would  behold  me  alone.  • 

"  The  joy  that  flashed  out  from  thy  death-shrouded  cyos. 
That  laugh'd  in  thy  dimples,  and  brighton'd  thy  cheek, 
Is  quench' d — but  the  smile  on  thy  pale  lip  that  lies, 

Now  tells  of  a  joy  that  no  language  can  speak. 
The  fountain  is  seal'd,  the  young  spirit  at  rest — 
Oh,  vt'hy  should  I  mourn  thee,  my  lov'd  one — my  blest?" 

Tlie  anniversary  of  that  fatal  day  gave  birth  to  the  following 
lines,  with  which  J  will  close  this  long  chapter : — 


l! 


THE  EARLY  LOST. 

"  The  shade  of  death  upon  my  threshold  lay. 
The  sun  from  thy  life's  dial  had  departed ; 
A  cloud  came  down  upon  thy  early  day. 

And  left  thy  hapless  mother  broken-hearted — 

My  boy — my  boy  ! 

"  Long  weary  months  have  pass'd  since  that  sad  day. 
But  naught  beguiles  my  bosom  of  its  sorrow  : 
Since  the  cold  waters  took  thee  for  their  prey. 
No  smiling  hope  looks  forward  to  the  morrow — 

My  boy — my  boy  ! 


TnK  t 
1,500  s( 
wore  eh 
artistic  i 


kiss ! 


'Pi"g, 


I  of  morning 
the  tree ! 


J  eyes, 
liy  cheek, 


les. 


blest?" 
following 


LIFE    IN    TIIR    CLEARIN'OS. 

"  The  voice  of  mirth  in  silenced  in  my  heart, 

Thuu  wort  so  dearly  loved — so  fondly  cherish'd ; 
I  cannot  yet  believe  that  we  must  part — 

That  all.  ?avc  thine  immortal  soul,  has  perish'd— 

My  boy — my  boy  ! 

"  My  lovely,  laughing,  rosy,  dimpled,  child, 

I  call  upon  thee,  when  the  sun  shines  clearest ; 
In  the  dark  lonely  night,  in  accents  wild, 

I  breathe  thy  treasured  name,  my  best  and  dearest- 

My  boy — my  boy  ! 

"  The  hand  of  God  has  press'd  me  very  sore — 
Oil,  could  I  clasp  theo  once  more  as  of  yore, 

And  kisB  ♦hy  glowing  cheeks'  soft  velvet  bloom, 
i  would  resign  thee  to  the  Almighty  Giver 
Without  one  tear — would  yield  thee  up  for  ever, 
And  people  with  bright  forms  thy  silent  tomb. 
But  hope  has  faded  from  my  heart — and  joy 
Lies  buried  in  thy  grave,  my  darling  boy  !" 


41 


CHAPTER  IT. 

*'  Prophet  spirit !  rise  and  say, 

AVhat  in  Fancy's  glans  you  see — 
A  city  crown  tliis lonely  bay?" 

No  dream — a  bright  reality. 
Ere  half  a  centu./  has  roll' J 

Its  waves  of  light  .'iway, 
The  beauteous  vision  I  behold 

Shall  greet  the  rosy  day ; 
And  Belleville  view  with  civic  pride 

Her  greatness  mirror'd  in  the  tide." 


S.  M. 


TnK  town  of  Belleville,  in  1840,  contained  a  population  of 
1,500  soul.s,  or  thereabouts.  The  few  streets  it  then  possessed 
Were  chiefly  composed  of  frame  houses,  put  up  in  the  most  un- 
artistic  and  irregular  fashion,  thoir  gable  ends  or  fronts  turned  to 


•  L 


<! 
I!. 


n 


;! 


If 


If 


I' 


!' 


42 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLE  A  KINGS. 


the  street,  as  it  suited  the  wliim  or  convenience  of  the  owner, 
\vithout  the  least  regard  to  taste  or  neatness.  At  that  period 
there  were  only  two  stone  houses  and  two  of  hrick  in  the  place. 
One  of  these  wonders  of  the  village  was  the  court-house  and 
gaol ;  the  other  three  were  stores.  The  dwellings  of  the  wealth- 
ier i)ortion  of  the  connnunity  were  distinguished  hy  a  coat  of 
white  or  yellow  paint,  with  green  or  brown  doors  and  window 
blinds;  while  the  houses  of  the  poorer  class  retained  the  dull 
grey,  which  the  i)lain  boards  always  assume  after  a  short  expo- 
sure to  the  weather. 

In  spite  of  the  great  beauty  of  the  locality,  it  was  but  an  in- 
significant, dirty-looking  place.  The  main  street  of  the  town 
(Front-street,  as  it  is  called)  was  only  partially  paved  with  rough 
slabs  of  limestone,  and  these  were  put  so  cnrelessly  down  that 
their  uneven  edges,  and  the  difference  in  their  height  and  size, 
was  i)ainful  to  the  pedestrian,  and  destruction  to  his  shoes, 
leading  you  to  suppose  that  the  paving  committee  had  been  com- 
posed of  shoemakers.  In  spring  and  fall  the  nmd  was  so  deep  in 
the  centre  of  the  thoroughfare  that  it  required  you  to  look  twice 
before  you  commenced  the  ditiicult  task  of  crossing,  lest  you 
might  chance  to  leave  your  shoes  sticking  fast  in  the  mud.  This 
I  actually  saw  a  lady  do  one  Sunday  while  crossing  the  church 
hill.  Belleville  had  just  been  incori)orated  as  the  metropolitan 
toAvn  of  the  Victoria  District,  and  my  husband  presided  as  Sheriff 
in  the  first  court  ever  held  in  the  place. 

Twelve  brief  years  have  made  a  wonderful,  and  almost  mira- 
culous change  in  the  aspect  and  circumstances  of  the  town.  A 
stranger,  who  had  not  visited  it  during  that  period,  could  scarcely 
recognize  it  as  the  same.  It  has  more  than  doubled  its  dimcn  ■ 
sious,  and  its  population  has  increased  to  upwards  of  4-,500  souls. 
Handsome  commodious  stores,  filled  with  expensive  goods  from 
the  mother  country  and  the  States,  have  risen  in  the  i)lace  of  the 
small  dark  frame  buildings ;  and  large  liotels  have  jostled  into 
obscurity  the  low  taverns  and  groceries  that  once  formed  the 
only  places  of  entertainment. 

In  IS-iO,  a  wooded  swamp  extended  almost  the  whole  way 
from  Belleville  to  Carilfs  Mills  a  distance  of  three  miles.  The 
road  was  execrable ;  and  only  a  few  log  shanties,  or  very  smaU 


frr.me  hod 
Cariirs  MJ 
jiopulatioij 
connects  il 
continuouj 
ornament; 
triitlic  in 
plank  roa(| 
hollers. 

In  18401 
there  arc 
]ieriod  wc 
looked  up 
most  con\ 
Our  first  n 
and  very  r( 
long  run,  a 
more  comi 
it  is  toler 
articles  an 
iii  Kiugstt 
iioss  show 
tliey  are  o 
jected  to 
the  butch 
A  market 
si)eculatio 
talked  ov( 
study   of 
Imagine  «] 
dressed  ir 
''  How 
"  Mode 
to-day  ?" 
''  Mort 
"  Why 
quite  smf 
"  The  ( 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


4.T 


frr.nie  Iiouses,  occurred  Jit  intervuls  ulurifj;  tlio  road-side.  Now, 
Ciiritrs  Mills  is  as  large  as  Belleville  was  in  1840,  and  boasts  of  a 
iminiUition  of  upwards  of  lOUO  inhabitants.  A  fine  plank  road 
connects  it  with  the  latter  place,  and  the  -wliole  distance  is  one 
cDiitinuous  street.  Many  of  the  houses  by  the  wayside  are  i)relty 
ornamental  cottages,  composed  of  brick  or  stone.  An  inimonso 
tralHc  in  flour  and  lumber  is  carried  on  at  this  place,  and  the 
plank  road  has  proved  a  very  lucrative  speculation  to  the  share- 
hoblers. 

In  1840,  there  Avas  but  one  bank  agency  in  Belleville,  now 
there  are  four,  three  of  which  do  a  great  business.  At  tliat 
period  we  had  no  market,  although  Saturday  was  generally 
looked  upon  as  the  market-day;  the  farmers  choosing  it  as  the 
most  convenient  to  bring  to  town  their  farm  produce  for  sale. 
Our  first  market-house  was  erected  in  1849  ;  it  was  bnilt  of  wood, 
and  very  roughly  finished.  This  proved  but  poor  economy  in  tlio 
long  run,  as  it  was  burnt  down  the  succeeding  year.  A  now  and 
more  commodious  one  of  brick  has  been  erected  in  its  place,  and 
it  is  tolerably  supplied  with  meat  and  vegetables;  but  these 
articles  are  both  dearer  and  inferior  in  quality  to  those  offered 
iii  Kingston  and  Toronto.  This,  perhaps,  is  owing  to  the  tardi- 
ness shown  by  the  farmers  in  bringing  in  their  produce,  which 
tliey  are  obliged  to  offer  first  for  sale  in  the  market,  or  be  sub- 
jected to  a  trifling  fine.  There  is  very  little  competition,  and 
the  butchers  and  town  grocery-keepers  have  it  their  own  way. 
A  market  is  always  a  stirring  scene.  Here  politics,  commercial 
speculations,  and  the  little  floating  gossip  of  the  village,  are  freely 
talked  over  and  discussed.  To  those  who  feel  an  interest  in  the 
study  of  human  nature,  the  market  affords  an  ample  field. 
Imagine  a  conversation  like  the  following,  between  two  decently 
dressed  mechanics'  wives : 

"  How  are  }  ou,  Mrs.  G ?" 

"  Moderate,  I  thank  you.    Did  you  hear  Low  old  P was 

to-day  ?'' 

"  Mortal  bad." 

"  Why  !  you  don't  say.     Our  folks  heard  that  he  was  getting 
quite  smart.     Is  ho  dangerous .'" 

"  The  doctor  has  given  him  up  entirely." 


1    » 


'  ■    T    >I 


i;f. 


44 


LIFK    IN    THE    CI.EAKINOS. 


"  Well,  it  will  ho  a  bad  job  for  the  Ihuiily  if  lie  goes.  I've  he'rd 
that  there  won't  be  money  enough  to  pay  his  debts.     But  what 

of  this  niarringo  ?     They  do  say  that  Mis"  A. is  to  be  married 

to  old  Mister  B ." 

"What  arc  her  friends  thinking  about  to  let  that  young  gal 
marry  that  old  bald-headed  man  ?" 

"  The  money  to  bo  sure — they  say  he's  rieh." 

"  If  he's  rich,  ho  never  made  his  money  honestly." 

"  All,  ho  came  of  a  bad  set," — with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

And  80  they  go  on,  talking  and  chatting  over  the  affairs  of  the 
neighbourhood  in  succession.  It  is  curious  to  Avatch  the  traits 
of  character  exhibited  in  buyer  and  seller.  Both  exceed  tho 
bounds  of  truth  and  honesty.  The  one,  in  his  eagerness  to  sell 
his  goods,  bestowing  upon  them  the  most  unqualified  praise ;  the 
other  depreciating  them  below  their  real  value,  in  order  to  obtain 
them  at  an  Tmreasonably  low  price. 

"Fine  beef,  ma'am,"  exclaims  an  anxious  butcher,  watching, 
with  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  a  respectable  citizen's  wife,  as  she  paces 
slowly  and  irresolutely  in  front  of  his  stall,  where  he  has  hung 
out  for  sale  the  side  of  an  ox,  neither  the  youngest  nor  fattest. 
"Fine  grass-fed  beef,  ma'am — none  better  to  be  had  in  the 
district.  What  shall  I  send  you  home — sirloin,  ribs,  a  tender 
Bteak  ?" 

"  It  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  do  that,"  responds  the  good 
wife,  with  some  asperity  in  look  and  tone.  "It  seems  hard  and 
old ;  some  lean  cow  you  have  killed,  to  save  her  from  dying  of 
the  consumption." 

^  "  No  danger  of  the  fat  setting  fire  to  tho  lum" — suggests  a  rival 
in  the  trade.  "  Here's  a  fine  veal,  ma'am,  fatted  upon  the  milk 
of  two  cows." 

"  Looks,"  oays  the  comely  dame,  passing  on  to  the  next  stall, 
"  as  if  it  had  been  starved  upon  the  milk  of  one." 

Talking  of  markets  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  trick — a  wicked 
trick — but,  perhaps,  not  the  less  amusing  on  that  account,  that 
was  played  oflt  in  Toronto  market  last  year  by  a  young  medical 
student,  name  unknown.  It  was  the  Christmas  week,  and  tho 
market  was  adorned  with  evergreens,  and  dressed  with  all  possible 
care.    Tho  stalls  groaned  beneath  the  weight  of  good  cheer — fish, 


I  flcj^h,  and 

I  and  abstr| 

"i  heart  of 

.V 

i  for  the  i1 


) 


quantity 
hiitchor  Ij 
that  had 
the  monsii 
market,  an 
attract  th 
Dr.  C- 
fii-"  the  en 
and  orden 
The  man, 
her  full  si 
character! 
pinned  uf 
quitted  th 
came  up  t 
leaning  ca 
scene;  an 
fond  of  pr 
off  one  Uf 
and  dexte 
side  of  thi 
ing  victin 
bvoad  she 
After  a 
titters  an 
and  all  tli 
public  rci 
ccMit  dan 
clusively 
laughter 
"  Prize  I 
reached 
The  la 


tl)0 


;  stall, 


) 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUINOS. 


45 


flesh,  and  fowl,  all  contributing;  their  share  to  toinpt  tho  appetite 
iiTul  abstract  money  from  the  i)nrsc.  It  was  a  sij^ht  to  warm  tho 
heart  of  the  most  fastidious  epicure,  and  give  him  the  nightmare 
for  tho  next  seven  nights,  only  dreaming  of  that  stupendous 
quantity  of  food  to  bo  masticated  by  the  jaws  of  man.  One 
iMitcher  had  tho  supreme  felicity  of  possessing  a  fine  fat  heifer, 
tliat  had  taken  the  j/rize  at  the  i)rovincial  agricultural  show ;  and 
the  monster  of  fat,  which  was  justly  considered  the  pride  of  tho 
market,  was  liung  up  in  the  most  conspicuous  place  in  order  to 
attract  the  gaze  of  all  beholders. 

Dr.  C ,  a  wealthy  doctor  of  laws,  Avas  providing  good  cheer 

fii"  tlie  entertainment  of  a  few  choice  friends  on  Christmas-day, 
and  ordered  of  the  butcher  four  ribs  of  the  tempting-looking  beef. 
The  man,  unwilling  to  cut  up  the  animal  until  she  had  enjoyed 
her  full  sliare  of  admiration,  Avrote  upon  a  piece  of  paper,  in  largo 
cliaracters,  "Prize  Heifer — four  ribs  for  Dr.  C — ~;"  this  lie 
l)inned  upon  the  carcase  of  the  beast.  Sliortly  after  the  doctor 
quitted  the  market,  and  a  very  fat  young  lady  and  hor  mother 
came  up  to  the  stall  to  make  some  purchases ;  our  student  was 
loaning  carelessly  agajnst  it,  watching  with  bright  eyes  the  busy 
scene ;  and  being  an  uncommonly  mischievous  fellow,  and  very 
fond  of  practical  jokes,  a  thought  suddenly  struck  him  of  playing 
off  one  upon  the  stout  young  lady.  Her  back  was  towards  him, 
and  dexterously  abstracting  the  aforementioned  placard  from  the 
side  of  the  heifer,  he  transferred  it  to  the  shawl  of  his  unsuspect- 
ing victim,  just  where  its  ample  folds  comfortably  encased  hor 
bvoad  shoulders. 

After  a  while  the  ladies  left  the  market,  amidst  the  suppressed 
titters  and  outstretched  foro-fingcrs  of  butchers  and  hucksters, 
and  all  tho  idle  loafers  that  generally  congregate  in  such  places  of 
public  resort.  All  up  the  length  of  King-street  walked  the  inno- 
cent damsel,  marvelling  that  tho  public  attention  appeared  ex- 
clusively botoAved  upon  her.  Still,  as  she  passed  along,  bursts  of 
laughter  resounded  on  all  sides,  and   the   oft-repeated  Avords, 

'' Prize  Heifer — four  ribs  for  Dr.  C ;"  it  Avas  not  until  she 

reached  her  own  dAA'^elling  that  she  became  aAvare  of  the  trick. 

The  land  to  the  east,  north  and  west  of  Belleville,  rises  to  a 


x 
I     1 


4G 


LIFE    IN    TIIR    CLEAKINGH. 


conyideniblo  heigfit,  nnd  some  of  tho  back  townships,  like 
ITuntlugdon  and  Ilungerford,  abound  iu  lofty  hillTf.  There  is  in 
the  former  township,  on  the  road  leading  from  Rawdoii  village 
to  Luke's  tavern,  n  most  extraordinary  natural  phenomenon. 
The  road  for  several  miles  runs  along  tho  top  of  a  sharp  ridge, 
so  narrow  that  it  leaves  barely  brcadtii  enough  for  two  wagons 
to  ])as3  in  safety.  This  ridge  is  composed  of  gravel,  and  looks  as 
if  it  had  been  subjected  to  the  action  of  water.  On  either  side 
of  this  huge  embankment  there  is  a  sheer  descent  into  a  finely 
wooded  level  plain  below,  through  ■which  wanders  a  lonely  creek, 
or  small  stream.  I  don't  know  what  the  height  of  tins  ridge  is 
above  tho  level  of  the  meadow,  but  it  must  be  very  considerable, 
as  yon  look  down  upon  the  tops  of  the  loftiest  forest  trees  as  they 
grow  far,  far  beneath  you.  The  road  is  ■well  fenced  on  either 
side,  or  it  would  require  some  courage  to  drive  young  skittisli 
horses  along  this  dangerous  pass.  The  settlers  in  that  vicinity 
have  given  to  this  singular  rise  the  name  of  tho  "Ridge  road.'' 
There  is  a  sharp  ridge  of  limestone  at  the  back  of  the  towiishi[) 
of  Thurlow,  though  of  far  loss  dimensions,  ■which  looks  as  if  it 
had  been  thrown  up  in  some  convulbioy  of  the  earth,  as  the 
limestone  is  shattered  in  all  directions.  The  same  thing  occurs 
on  the  road  to  Shannonville,  a  small  but  flourishing  village  on  tho 
Kingston  road,  nine  miles  east  of  Belleville.  The  rock  is  heaved 
up  in  tho  middle,  and  divided  by  deep  cracks  into  innumerable 
fragments.  I  put  a  long  stick  down  one  of  these  deep  cracks 
Avithout  reaching  the  bottom;  and  as  I  gathered  a  lovely  bunch 
of  harebells,  that  ■were  waving  their  graceful  blossoms  over  tho 
barren  rock,  I  thought  what  an  excellent  breeding  place  for 
snakes  these  deep  Assures  must  make. 

But  to  return  to  Belleville.  The  west  side  of  the  river — a  flat 
limestone  pk.!n,  scantily  covered  with  a  second  growth  of  dwarf 
trees  and  bushes — has  not  as  yet  been  occupied,  although  a  flour- 
ishing village  that  has  sprung  up  within  a  few  years  crowns  the 
ridge  above.  The  plain  below  is  private  property,  and  being  very 
valuable,  as  affording  excellent  sites  for  flour  and  saw  mills,  has 
been  reserved  in  order  to  obtain  a  higher  price.  This  circumstance 
has  doubtless  been  a  drawback  to  tho  growth  of  the  town  iu 


I 


I 


that  dire 

erection 

beauties 

The  a 
down  a  \ 
below, 
water,  ar 
Their  sit 
since  the 
colony  ; 
new  Bettl 
scape. 

A  mor 
pointed  o 
be  a  diili( 
and  pleas 
])refer  it 
really  th( 
to  have  p 
Quinte,  cr 
stretcidni: 
and  beaut 
I  feel  pro 
globe  in  ■\ 
selves  w'o 

The  sta 
everythin 
by  the  in 
sided.  T 
looked  di 
reigned  j 
council-cl 

The  to- 
however 
was  to  ii 
party,  wl 
selves,  br 
traitors  a; 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAKINGH. 


47 


I 


I 


that  direction  ;  while  slinttiri}^  ont  the  view  of  tlio  river  by  the 
erection  of  largo  buildings  will  greatly  diminish  the  nutnrul 
beauties  of  tliis  picturesque  spot. 

The  approach  to  Belleville,  both  from  the  east  and  west,  is 
down  a  very  steep  hill,  the  town  lying  principally  in  the  valley 
below.  These  hillrf  conunnnd  a  beautiful  prospect  ot  wood  and 
water,  and  of  a  rich,  well-cleared,  and  highly  cultivated  country. 
Their  sides  are  adorned  with  lino  trees,  which  have  grown  up 
since  the  axo  first  levelled  the  primeval  forests  in  this  part  of  the 
colony  ;  a  circumstance  which,  being  unusual  in  Canada  round 
new  settlements,  forms  a  most  attractive  feature  in  the  land- 
scape. 

A  more  delightful  summer's  evening  ride  could  scarcely  bo 
])ointed  out  than  along  the  Trent,  or  Kingston  roads,  and  it  would 
be  a  ditlicult  thing  to  determine  which  afforded  tlie  most  varieil 
niul  pleasing  prospect.  Residing  upon  the  west  hill,  we  naturally 
]»refer  it  to  the  other,  but  I  have  some  doubts  whether  it  is 
really  the  prettiest.  I  have  often  imagined  a  hundred  years 
to  have  passed  away,  and  the  lovely  sloping  banks  of  the  Bay  of 
Quinte,  crowned  with  rural  villages  and  stately  j)arks  and  houses, 
stretcning  down  to  these  fair  waters.  What  a  scene  of  fertility 
and  beauty  riseo  before  my  mental  vision !  My  heart  swells,  and 
I  feel  proud  that  I  belong  to  a  race  who,  in  every  portion  of  the 
globe  in  winch  they  have  planted  a  colony,  have  proved  them- 
selves worthy  to  be  the  sires  of  a  great  nation. 

The  state  of  society  when  we  first  came  to  this  district,  was 
everything  but  friendly  or  agreeable.  The  ferment  occasioned 
by  the  impotent  rebellion  of  W.  L.  Mackenzie  had  hardly  sub- 
sided. The  public  mind  was  in  a  sore  and  excited  state.  Men 
looked  distrustfully  upon  each  other,  and  the  demon  of  party 
reigned  pre-eminent,  as  much  in  the  drawing-room  as  in  the 
council-chamber. 

The  town  was  divided  into  two  fierce  political  factions ;  and 
however  moderate  your  views  might  be,  to  belong  to  the  one 
was  to  incur  the  dislike  and  ill-will  of  the  other.  The  Tory 
party,  who  arrogated  the  whole  loyalty  of  the  colony  to  them- 
selves, branded,  indiscriminately,  the  large  body  of  Reformers  as 
traitors  and  rebels.    Every  couscientioua  and  thinking  man,  who 


1^ 


i 


I  ,  I 


48 


Llt'K    IN    THK    CI-KAHINU.S. 


wished  to  SCO  a  cIihu^'o  for  tlio  bettor  in  tlio  iiiunagenieiit  of 
public  utl'air.s,  was  coiilbiiiided  >vltli  thotJC  discontented  spirits, 
wiio  hud  raised  the  Htati(hird  of  revolt  n<(ainst  the  niollier  coun- 
try. In  justice  even  to  tbeni,  it  must  be  said,  not  wiihoiit  severe 
provocation  ;  and  their  disatfection  was  more  towards  the  coht- 
nial  government,  and  the  abuses  it  fostered,  than  any  particular 
dislike  to  British  supremacy  or  institutions.     Their   attcmi)t. 


■lieth 


itigated  by  patriotif 


.'in 


d  probably  it. 


mess- 
contained  a  mixture  of  both — had  failed,  and  it  was  but  just 
that  they  should  feel  the  punishment  duo  to  their  crime,  lint 
the  odious  term  of  rebtl,  applied  to  some  of  the  most  loyal  and 
honourable  men  in  the  province,  because  they  could  not  give  up 
their  honest  views  on  the  state  of  the  colony,  gave  rise  to  bitter 
and  resentful  feelings,  whicli  were  ready,  on  all  public  occasions, 
to  burst  mto  a  flame.  Even  women  entered  deeply  into  tliis 
party  lio.stility  ;  and  those  who,  from  tlicir  education  and  men- 
tal advantages,  might  have  been  friends  and  agreeable  com- 
panions, kept  aloof,  rarely  taking  notice  of  each  other,  when 
accidently  thrown  together. 

The  native-born  Canadian  regarded  with  a  jealous  feeling  men 
of  talent  and  respectability  who  emigrated  from  the  mother 
countr}',  as  most  offices  of  consequence  and  emolument  were 
given  to  such  persons.  The  Canadian,  naturally  enough,  consid- 
ered such  preference  unjust,  and  an  infringement  upon  his  rights 
as  a  native  of  the  colony,  and  that  lie  had  a  greater  claiu],  on 
that  account,  upon  tlie  government,  than  men  who  were  perfect 
strangers.  This,  owing  to  liis  limited  education,  was  not  always 
the  case;  but  the  preference  shown  to  the  British  emigrant 
proved  an  active  source  of  ill-will  and  discontent.  The  favoured 
occupant  of  place  and  power  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  conciliate 
liis  Canadian  rival,  or  to  give  up  the  title  to  mental  superiority 
which  ho  derived  fn-m  birth  and  education  ;  and  he  too  ol'ten 
treated  his  illiterate,  but  sagacious  political  opponent,  with  a 
contempt  Avhich  his  practical  knowledge  and  experience  did  not 
merit.  It  was  a  miserable  state  of  things ;  and  I  believe  that 
most  largo  towns  in  the  province  bore,  in  these  respects,  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  each  other.  Those  Avho  wished  to  see  impar- 
tial justice  administered  to  all,  had  but  an  uncomfortable  time  of 


r> 


UV&    IN    Till!:    CLEAUINGH. 


4U 


ways 

fiOilt 

)nrcd 
iatc 
rity 

often 

th  a 
not 
that 

trik- 


< 


V 


it, — both  pnrtioH  r(«,'ftr(Hi}ff  witli  nii.strust  those  men  who  could 
not  ^o  tl'O  whole  length  with  thoiii  in  their  political  oiiinioii;!. 
T(.  f,'alii  influonco  in  Canada,  and  bo  the  leader  of  a  party,  a 
jiian  must,  as  the  Yankees  say,  "t/o  the  xchole  hng^ 

The  peoi)lo  in  the  back  woods  were  fortunate  in  not  having 
their  pence  disturbed  by  these  political  broils.  In  tho  dei-th:;  .»f 
the  dark  forest,  they  wore  profoundly  ignorant  of  how  tho  colony 
was  governed;  and  many  did  not  oven  know  which  party  wis 
in  power,  and  when  tho  rebellion  actually  l>roko  out  it  foil  iijion 
tlieni  like  a  thunder-clap.  JJut  in  their  ignorance  and  seclusiim 
there  was  at  least  safety,  and  they  were  free  from  that  druadfid 
scourge — ''  tho  malicious  strife  of  tongues." 

The  fever  of  tho  "C/cri/y  Resen-cs  question'''' -was  then  at  its 
height.  It  was  never  introduced  in  company  but  to  giveoflcnce, 
and  lead  to  lierco  political  discussions.  All  parties  Avero  wrong, 
and  nobody  Avas  convinced.  This  A-exed  political  question  ahvays 
brought  before  my  mental  vision  a  ludicrous  sort  of  caricature, 
Avhich,  if  I  had  tho  artistic  skill  to  delineate,  Avould  form  no  bad 
illustration  of  this  perplexing  subject. 

I  saAV  in  my  mind's  eye  a  group  of  dogs  in  tho  market-place  of 
a  large  toAvn,  to  whom  some  benevolent  individual,  Avith  a  vicAV 
to  their  mutual  benefit,  had  flung  a  shank  of  beef,  Avith  meat 
enough  upon  the  upper  end  to  have  satisfied  the  hunger  of  all, 
could  such  an  impossible  thing  as  an  etiual  divit^ion^  among  such 
noisy  claimants,  have  becai  made. 

A  strong  English  bull-dog  immediately  seized  upon  tho  bone, 
and  for  some  time  gnaAved  aAvay  at  tho  best  end  of  it,  and  con- 
trived to  keep  all  the  other  dogs  at  bay.  This  proceeding  Avas 
resented  by  a  stout  mastiff,  Avho  thought  that  ho  had  as  good 
a  right  to  the  beef  as  the  bull-dog,  and  Hung  himself  tooth  and 
claAV  upon  his  opponent.  While  these  two  Avero  f '^hting  and 
Avrangling  OA'cr  the  bone,  a  Aviry,  active  I  cotch  terrier,  tliough 
but  half  the  size  of  tho  other  combatants,  began  tugging  at  the  small 
end  of  the  shank,  snarling  and  barking  Avith  all  tho  strength  of 
his  lungs,  to  gain  at  least  a  chance  of  being  heard,  even  if  he  did 
fail  in  putting  in  his  claims  to  a  share  of  the  meat. 

An  old  cunning  greyhound,  to  whom  no  share  had  been  ollerod, 


t  I, 


I  '^  \ 


I     ) 


':-  "; 


t:1 


50 


Uk'K    IN    rilK    CLElAUlNOei. 


uiid  wlu)  well  knew  that  iL  was  of  no  uso  putting'  hitnscU'ngainst 
tlio  Htrcn^'tli  of  tho  bull-ilog  und  nii>«till',  wtood  proudly  aloof, 
with  fiuivcrlng  cars  and  tail,  regarding  tho  doings  of  tlio  otiari* 
with  a  glaiioo  of  eovoreign  contt-'nipt ;  yet,  watching  with  his 
keen  oyo  for  an  opportunity  of  making  a  buccossCuI  ,si)riug,  whilo 
they  were  busily  engaged  in  snarling  and  biting  each  other,  to 
carry  off  tho  nieat,  bono  and  all. 

A  undtitudo  of  nondc.scriiit  curs,  of  no  weight  in  themselves, 
were  snajjping  and  sniillling  round  tho  bone,  eagerly  anticij)ating 
tho  few  tit  bits,  wluch  they  hoped  might  fall  to  their  share  dur- 
ing tho  pnjlongcd  sculllo  among  tho  higher  i)owers  ;  whilo  tho 
liguro  of  Justice,  dindy  seen  in  tho  distance,  was  poising  licr 
scales,  and  lifting  her  sword  to  mako  an  eijuul  division  ;  but  her 
voico  I'ailed  to  bo  heard,  and  her  august  i)rosenco  regarded',  in 
tho  imivertal  hubbub.  Tho  height  to  which  party  feeling  was 
carried  in  those  days,  had  to  bo  experienced  before  it  could  bo 
fully  understood. 

Happily  for  tho  colony,  <,his  evil  spirit,  during  tho  last  three 
years,  has  greatly  diminished.  Tho  two  rival  jtartios,  though 
they  occasionally  abuse  and  vilify  each  other,  through  tho  me- 
dium of  tho  common  safety  valve — the  public  papers — aro  not  so 
virulent  as  in  1840.  They  are  more  equally  nuitched.  The  union 
of  tho  provinces  has  kept  the  reform  party  in  tho  ascendant,  ana 
tboy  are  very  indilfercnt  to  tho  good  or  ill  opinion  of  their  op- 
l)onents. 

Tho  colony  ims  greatly  progressed  under  their  administration, 
and  is  now  in  a  most  prosperous  and  nourishing  state.  Tho 
municipal  and  district  councils,  free  schools,  and  the  improve- 
ment in  tho  public  thoroughfares  of  tho  country,  aro  owing  to 
them,  and  have  proved  a  great  blessing  to  tho  community. 
The  resources  of  the  country  are  daily  being  opened  up,  and 
both  at  homo  and  abroad  Canada  is  rising  in  public  estimation. 

As  a  woman,  I  cannot  enter  into  tho  philosophy  of  theso 
things,  nor  is  it  my  intention  to  do  so.  I  leave  statistics  for 
wiser  and  cleverer  male  heads.  But,  oven  as  a  woman,  I  can- 
not help  rejoicing  in  the  bencticial  effects  that  these  changes 
have  wrouglit  in  the  land  of  my  adoption.    The  day  of  our  com- 


.^ 


;4 


> 


Ut'K    IN    TlIK    CLKAUINUH. 


61 


id 


mcrclal  nnd  national  prosperity  has  dawnod,  and  tlio  rays  of  tho 
Kuri  uircady  bri^^litiMi  tho  liill-topH. 

To  tlioMo  persons  who  have  been  hron^rlit  up  in  tiic  r)ld  (luuntry, 
and  accuBtonied  iVoiii  intiincy  to  adhco  to  tho  convoiitional 
rides  of  society,  the  Juixud  society  must,  Tor  a  hiug  titno,  prove 
very  distasteful.  Yet  this  very  freedom,  >vhich  is  ho  rcpu;,'iiaiit 
to  all  their  |>rcconceived  notions  and  projiidices,  is  by  no  means 
HO  unpleasant  as  strangers  would  bo  levl  to  imagine  A  (certain 
nuxture  of  tho  connnon  and  tho  real,  of  tho  absurd  and  tho 
ridiculous,  j^ives  a  zest  to  tlio  (udd,  tame  decencies,  to  be  \\)U\h\  in 
more  exclusive  and  relined  eirtlos.  iluman  pmsion."  and  fceliiigH 
are  exiabited  with  iiiore  lidelity,  and  you  see  men  and  women  as 
they  really  arc.  And  many  kind,  good,  and  noblo  traits  are  to 
bu  found  amonj^  tliose  classes,  whom  at  homo  we  regard  as  our 
inferiors.  The  lady  and  gentleman  in  Canada  aro  as  distinctly 
marked  as  elsowhcre.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  superiority  that 
mental  eultivation  ])estows;  and  their  mingling  in  public  with 
their  less  gifted  neighbours,  ra' her  adds  than  takes  from  their 
claims  to  bold  tho  iirst  place.  1  consider  tho  state  of  society  in 
a  more  healthy  condition  than  at  homo ;  and  people,  when  they 
go  out  for  pleasure  hero  seem  to  enjoy  themselves  much  more. 

Tlic  harmony  tliat  reigns  among  the  members  of  a  Canadian 
family  is  truly  delightful.  They  aro  not  a  (piarrelsomo  people  in 
their  own  homes.  No  contradicting  or  disputing,  or  hatefid 
rivalry,  is  to  bo  seen  between  Cai;adian  brotliers  and  sisters. 
Tiiey  ding  together  through  good  and  ill  report,  like  tho  buiidhs 
of  sticks  in  tho  fable;  and  I  have  seldom  found  a  real  Canadian 
ashamed  of  owning  a  poor  relation.  Tiiis  to  mo  is  a  beautiful 
feature  in  tho  Canadian  cliaracter.  rerlia{)s  the  perfect  ecpiality 
on  whicli  children  stand  in  a  fandly,  the  superior  claim  of  elder- 
hildp,  so  much  upheld  at  home,  never  being  enforced,  is  ono  great 
cause  of  tins  domestic  union  of  kindred  hearts. 

Most  of  the  i)retenco,  and  aftected  airs  of  importance,  occa- 
sionally met  with  in  Canada,  aro  not  the  genuine  i)roduco  of  tho 
Boil,  but  importations  from  the  mother  country  ;  and,  as  suro  as 
you  hear  any  one  boasting  of  the  rank  and  conse(]Uonce  they 
possessed  at  home,  you  rnay  be  certain  that  it  was  quite  tho  re- 
ver8e.    An  old  Dutch  lady,  after  liatening  very  attentively  U)  a 


I  I 


'I 


».' 


^1 


I    , 


^%^ 


52 


LIFE    IN    TlIK    CLEAUTNuS. 


young  Irishwoman's  account  of  tlu<  grandeur  of  her  father's 
faniHy  at  Jionio,  said  ratlicr  drily  to  the  self-exalted  damsel, — 

"  Groodness  mo,  child  I  if  you  were  so  well  off,  what  brought 
yoii  to  a  poor  country  like  this  ?  I  am  sure  you  had  been  much 
wiser  had  you  staid  to  hum — " 

"  Yes.  But  my  papa  heard  such  fine  commendations  of  the 
country,  that  he  sold  his  estate  to  come  out." 

"  To  pay  his  debts,  perhai)?,"  said  the  provoking  old  woman. 

"  Ah,  no,  n.ft'ani,"  she  replied,  very  innocently,  "  he  never  paid 
tliem.  He  was  told  that  it  was  a  very  fine  climate,  and  he  came 
for  the  good  of  our  health." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  you  look  as  if  you  never  hud  had  a  day's 
tdckness  in  your  life." 

"i^o  more  I  have,"  she  replied,  putting  on  a  very  languid  air, 
"  but  I  am  very  delicate.'''' 

This  term  delicate,  be  it  known  to  my  readers,  is  a  ftivourito 
one  with  young  ladies  here,  bu',  its  genei-al  apphcation  would 
lead  you  to  imagine  it  another  t'  rra  for  laziness.  It  is  quite  fash- 
ionaMe  to  be  delicate^hnt  horribly  vulgar  to  bo  considered  capa- 
ble of  enjoying  such  a  useless  blessiiig  as  good  health.  I  knew  a 
lady,  when  I  first  came  to  the  colony,  who  had  her  childreiLdully 
wushed  in  water  almost  hot  enough  to  scald  a  pig.  On  being 
a'-kcd  why  she  did  so,  as  il  was  not  only  an  unhealthy  practice, 
but  would  rob  the  little  girls  of  oheir  fine  colour,  she  ex- 
claimed;— 

"  Oh,  that  is  just  what  I  do  it  for.  I  want  them  to  look  deli- 
cate. They  have  such  red  taces,  and  are  as  coarse  and  healthy  as 
country  girls." 

The  rosy  face  of  the  Britisli  emigrant  is  regarded  as  no  boaut}' 
herji.  Tlie  Cai|adian  women,  like  their  neighbours  tlie  Ameri- 
cans, have  sin.dl  regular  features,  but  are  mot-Uy  pale,  or  their  faces 
are  only  :;ligUtly  suffused  with  a  faint  flush.  During  the  scjxson  of 
youth  this  delicate  tinting  is  very  beautiful,  but  a  few  years  de- 
prive them  of  it,  and  leave  a  sickly,  sallow  pallor  in  ita  place. 
The  loss  of  their  teeth,  too,  is  a  great  drawback  to  their  per- 
sonal charms,  but  these  can  bo  so  woU  supplied  by  the  dentist 
that  it  is  not  so  much  felt ;  the  thing  is  so  universal,  that  it  is 
hardly  thought  detrimental  to  an  otherwise  pretty  face. 


LIFE    IN   THE    OLEAHIJOS. 


53 


I 


But  to  return  to  the  mere  pretenders  in  society,  of  which,  of 
course,  there  are  not  a  few  hero,  as  elsewhere.  I  once  met  two 
very  st3'hshly-dresse(l  women  at  a  place  of  public  entertainment. 
The  father  of  these  ladies  had  followed  the  lucrative  but  unaris- 
tocratio  trade  of  a  tailor  :n  London.  One  of  thenr*.  began  com- 
plaining to  me  of  the  mixed  state  of  society  in  Canada,  which 
she  considered  a  dreadful  calamity  to  persons  like  her  and  her  sis- 
ter ;  and  ended  her  lamentations  by  exclaiming, — 

"  "What  would  my  pa'  have  thought  could  he  have  seen  us  hero 
to-night  ?  Is  it  not  terrible  for  ladies  to  have  to  dance  in  tlio 
same  room  with  storekeepers  and  theic  clerks?" 

Another  lady,  of  the  same  stamp,  the  daughter  of  a  tavern- 
keeper,  was  indignant  at  being  introduced  to  a  gentleman  whoso 
father  had  followed  the  same  call  ng. 

Such  persons  seem  to  forget,  that  as  long  as  people  retain  their 
natural  manners,  and  remain  true  to  the  dignity  of  their  luup.an- 
ity,  they  cannot  with  any  justice  be  called  vulgar ;  for  vulgarity 
consists  in  presumptuously  affecting  to  bo  what  wo  are  not,  and 
in  claiming  distinctions  v/hich  we  do  not  desei've,  and  which  no 
one  else  would  admit. 

The  farmer,  in  his  homespun,  may  possess  the  real  essentials 
which  make  the  gentleman — good  feeling,  and  respect  for  tho 
feelings  of  others.  The  homely  dress,  weather-beaten  face,  and 
hard  hands,  could  not  deprive  him  of  the  honest  independence 
and  gonial  benevolence  he  derived  from  nature.  ^"0  real  gen- 
tleman would  treat  such  a  man,  however  humble  his  circum- 
titances,  with  insolence  or  contempt.  But  place  the  same  man 
out  of  his  class,  dress  him  in  tho  height  of  fashion,  and  let  him 
attempt  to  imitate  the  manners  of  the  great,  and  tho  whole 
world  would  laugh  at  the  counterfeit. 

Uneducated,  ignorant  people  often  rise  by  their  industry  to 
great  wealth  in  the  colony;  to  such  the  pi'efereuco  shown  to  tho 
educated  man  always  seems  a  puzzle.  Their  ideas  of  gentility 
consist  in  being  tho  owners  of  fine  clothes,  fine  houses,  splendid 
furniture,  expensive  equipages,  and  plenty  of  money.  They 
have  all  these,  yet  even  the  most  ignorant  feel  that  something 
else  is  required.  They  cannot  comprehend  tiie  mysterious  as- 
cendancy of  mind  over  mere  animal  et\joyments ;  yet  they  have 


1  ., 


(  f, 


I 


4 


64 


LIFE    IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


flenso  enough,  by  bestowing  a  111)6^1  education  on  their  children, 
to  endeavour,  at  least  in  their  case,  to  remedy  the  evil. 

The  affectation  of  ■wishing  peoWe  to  think  that  you  had  been 
better  olf  in  the  mother  country  ^han  in  Canada,  is  not  confined 
to  the  higher  class  of  emigrants.  The  very  poorest  are  the  most 
remarked  for  this  ridiculous  boasting.  A  servant  girl  of  mine 
told  me,  with  a  very  grand  toss  of  the  head,  "  that  she  did  not 
choose  to  demam  hersel'  by  scrubbing  a  floor ;  that  she  belonged 
to  the  rai'al  gintry  in  the  ould  counthry,  and  her  papa  and 
luannna  uiver  brought  her  up  to  hard  work." 

Tills  interesting  scion  of  the  aristocracy  was  one  of  the  coarsest 
specimens  of  female  humanity  I  ever  beheld.  If  I  called  her  to 
bring  a  piece  of  wood  for  the  parlour  fire,  she  would  thrust  her 
tangled,  uncombed  red  head  in  at  the  door,  and  shout  at  the  top 
nf  her  voice,  "Did  yer  holler?" 

One  of  our  working  men,  wishing  to  impress  me  with  the 
dignity  of  his  wife's  connexions,  said  with  all  becoming  solemnity 
of  look  and  manner — 

"Doubtless,  ma'am,  you  have  heard  in  the  ould  counthry  of 
Connor's  racers :  Margaret's  father  kept  those  racers." 

When  I  recalled  the  person  of  the  individual  whose  fame  was 
80  widely  spread  at  home,  and  thought  ( f  the  racers,  I  could 
liardly  keep  a  "straight  face,"  as  an  American  friend  terms 
laughing,  when  you  are  bound  to  look  grave. 

One  want  is  greatly  felt  here ;  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  a 
more  liberal  system  of  education  and  higher  moral  cultiu-e  will 
remedy  the  evil.  There  is  a  great  deficietcy  among  our  pro- 
fessional men  and  wealthy  traders  of  that  nice  sense  of  honoyr 
that  marks  the  conduct  and  dealings  of  the  same  class  at  home. 
Of  course  many  bright  exceptions  are  to  be  found  in  the  colony, 
but  too  many  of  the  Canadians  think  it  no  disgrace  to  take  every 
advantage  of  the  ignorance  and  inexperience  of  strangers. 

If  you  are  not  smart  enough  to  drive  a  close  bargain,  they 
consider  it  only  fair  to  take  you  in.  A  man  loses  very  little  in 
the  public  estimation  by  making  over  all  his  property  to  some 
convenient  friend,  in  order  to  defraud  his  creditors,  while  ho 
retains  a  conipetency  for  himself. 

Women,  whoso  husbands  have  been  detained  on  the  limits  for 


h 


years 

exnen;^ 

but  is 
"  H(k 

said  u| 

"  but, 

may  a| 

ad van! 
I  hal 

would 
The 

auuisii 

school, 
money 
fiction 
Onc< 
wife  ol 
master 
which  I 
elea:anc 


LIFE    IS    THE    CLEAUING8. 


55 


I 


years  for  debt,  w  ill  givo  lar;j;o  parties  and  dress  in  the  most 
expensive  style.  Tliisj  Avould  be  thought  dishonourable  at  home, 
but  is  considered  no  disgrace  here. 

"Honour  is  all  very  well  in  an  old  country  like  England," 
said  a  lady,  Avith  whom  I  had  been  arguing  on  the  subject; 

"  but,  Mrs.  M ,  it  won't  do  in  a  new  country  like  this.     You 

may  as  well  cheat  as  be  cheated.  For  my  part,  1  never  lose  an 
advantage  by  indulging  in  such  foolish  notions." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  person  who  entertained  such  principles 
would  not  fail  to  reduce  them  to  practice. 

The  idea  that  some  country  people  form  of  an  author  is  highly 
aauising.     One  of  my  boys  was  tauntingly  told  by  another  lad  at 

school,  "  that  his  ma'  said  that  Mrs,  M invented  lies,  and  got 

money  for  them."  This  was  her  csthnation  of  works  of  mere 
fiction. 

Once  I  was  driven  by  a  young  Irish  friend  to  call  upon  the 
wife  of  a  rich  farmer  in  the  country.  "We  were  shown  by  the 
master  of  the  house  into  a  very  handsomely  furnished  room,  in 
which  thei'o  was  no  lack  of  substantial  couifort,  and  even  of  somo 
elegances,  in  the  shape  of  books,  pictures,  and  a  piano.  The 
good  man  left  us  to  inform  his  wife  of  our  arrival,  and  for  somo 
mii'utes  we  remained  in  solemn  state,  until  the  mistress  of  the 
house  made  her  appearance. 

f  She  had  been  called  from  the  washtub,  and,  like  a  sensible 
woman,  was  not  ashamed  of  her  domestic  occupation.  She  came 
in  wiping  the  suds  from  lier  hands  on  her  apron,  and  gave  us  a 
very  hearty  and  friendly  welcome.  She  was  a  short,  stout, 
middle-aged  Avoman,  with  a  very  pleasing  countenance;  and 
though  only  in  her  coloured  flannel  working-dress,  with  a  night- 
cap on  her  head,  and  spectacled  nose,  there  was  something 
in  her  frau'i  good-natured  face  that  greatly  prepossessed  us  in 
her  favour.  J 

After  giving  us  the  common  compliments  of  the  day,  she  drew 
her  chair  just  in  front  of  me,  and,  resting  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  and  dropping  her  chin  between  her  hands,  she  sat  regard- 
ing me  with  such  a  fixed  gaze  that  it  became  very  embarrassing. 

"'So,"  says  she,  at  last,  "you  are  Mrs.  M ?" 

"Yea." 


■I  1 


50 


JJFE    IN   THE    CLEAUING.S. 


"The  woman  that  writes?" 

"  Tho  same." 

She  drew  back  her  chair  for  a  few  paces,  with  a  deep-drawn 
sigli,  in  which  disappointment  and  surprise  seemed  strangely  to 
mingle.  "Well,  I  have  he'rd  a  great  deal  about  you,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  yon  bad  for  a  long  time;  but  you  are  only  a 
luimly  person  like  myself  after  all.  "Why  I  do  think,  if  I  had  on 
iny  best  gown  and  cap,  I  should  look  a  great  deal  younger  and 
bettor  than  you." 

I  told  her  that  I  had  no  doubt  of  the  fact. 

"And  pray,"  continued  she,  with  the  same  provoking  scrutiny, 
"  Iiow  old  do  you  call  yourself?" 

I  told  lier  my  exact  age. 

"Ilumph!"  quoth  she,  as  if  she  rather  doubted  my  word, 
"  tAvo  years  younger  nor  mo  1  you  look  a  great  deal  older  nor 
that." 

After  a  long  pause,  and  another  searching  gaze,  "Do  you  call 
those  teeth  your  own  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  laughing;  for  I  could  retain  my  gravity  no 
longer :  "  in  the  very  truest  sense  of  tho  word  they  are  mine,  as 
God  gave  them  to  me." 

"You  ai'o  luckier  than  your  neighbours,"  said  she.  "But 
airn't  you  greatly  troubled  with  headaches  ?" 

"  No,"  said  I,  rather  startled  at  this  fresh  interrogatory. 

"My  1"  exclaimed  she,  "I  thought  you  must  be,  your  eyes  are 

BO  sunk  in  your  head.    "Well,  well,  so  you  are  Mrs.  M of 

Belleville,  the  woman  that  writes.  You  are  but  a  humly  body 
after  all." 

■While  this  curious  colloquy  was  going  on,  my  poor  Irisli  friend 
sat  on  thorns,  and  tried,  by  throwing  in  a  little  judicious  blarney, 
to  soften  tho  thrusts  of  the  home  truths  to  which  he  had  un- 
wittingly exposed  me.  BetAveen  every  pause  in  the  conversa- 
tion, ho  broke  in  with — "  I  am  sure  Mrs.  M is  a  fine-looking 

woman — a  very  young-looking  Avoraan  for  her  age.  Any  person 
might  knoAV  at  a  glance  that  those  teeth  were  her  own.  They 
look  too  natural  to  be  false." 

Now,  I  am  certain  that  tiio  poor  little  Avoman  never  meant  to 
wound  ray  feelings,  nor  give  me  oiience.    She  literally  spoke  her 


Ki. 


thouj 
feel  tl 
find  ii 
did  nc 
Hot 
tAVO  Id 


he 


^"1 
"W 

"01 


LIFE    IN   THE   CLEARIKOS. 


67 


I  I 


thoughts,  and  I  was  too  much  amused  with  tlie  whole  scene  to 
feel  the  least  irritated  by  her  honest  bluntness.  She  expected  to 
find  in  an  author  something  quite  out  of  the  common  way,  and  J 
did  not  come  up  at  all  to  her  expectations. 

Her  opinion  of  me  was  not  more  absurd  than  the  remarks  of 
two  ladies  who,  after  calling  upon  me  for  the  first  time,  com- 
municated the  result  of  their  observations  to  a  mutual  friend. 

"  Wo  Ijave  seen  Mrs.  M ,  and  wo  were  so  surprised  to  find 

lier  just  like  other  people !" 

"What  did  you  expect  to  see  in  her?" 

"Oh,  something  very  different.  We  were  very  much  dis- 
appointed." 

"  That  she  was  not  sitting  upon  her  head,"  said  my  friend, 

smiling ;  "  I  like  Mrs.  M ,  because  she  is  in  every  respect  liko 

other  people ;  and  I  should  not  have  taken  her  for  a  blue-stocking 
.:  at  all." 

|L  The  sin  of  authorship  meets  with  little  toleration  in  a  new 

country.  Several  persons  of  this  class,  finding  few  minds  that 
could  sympat).ise  with  them,  and  enter  into  their  literary  pur- 
suits, have  yielded  to  despondency,  or  falleu  victims  to  that 
insidious  enemy  of  souls,  Canadian  whisJcy.  Such  a  spirit  was 
the  unfortunate  Dr.  Huskins,  late  of  Frankfort  on  the  river  Trent. 
The  fate  of  this  gentleman,  who  was  a  learned  and  accomplished 
man  of  genius,  left  a  very  sad  impression  on  my  mind.  Like  too 
many  of  that  highly-gifted,  but  unhappy  fraternity,  he  struggled 
through  his  brief  life,  overwhelmed  with  the  weight  of  unde- 
served calumny,  and  his  peace  of  mind  embittered  with  the  most 
galling  neglect  and  poverty. 

The  want  of  sympathy  experienced  by  him  from  men  of  his 
own  class,  pressed  sorely  upon  the  heart  of  the  sensitive  man  of 
talent  and  refinement ;  he  found  very  few  who  could  appreciate 
or  understand  his  mental  superiority,  which  was  pronounced  as 
folly  and  madness  by  the  ignorant  persons  about  him.  A  new 
country,  where  all  are  rushing  eagerly  forward  in  order  to  secure 
the  common  necessaries  of  life,  is  not  a  favourable  soil  in  which 
to  nourish  the  bright  fancies  and  delusive  dreams  of  the  poet. 
Dr.  Huskins  perceived  his  error  too  late,  when  he  no  longer 
retained  the  means  to  remove  to  a  more  favourable  spot, — and 

3* 


<  I 


i  ■! 


i    i 


C8 


LIFK    IN   TUB    CLGARINOS. 


his  was  not  a  mind  which  could  meet  and  combat  successfully 
with  the  ills  of  life.  He  eiidea\onred  to  bear  proudly  the  evils 
of  his  situation,  but  he  had  neither  the  energy  nor  the  courage 
to  surmount  them.  He  withdrew  himself  from  society,  and 
passed  the  remainder  of  his  d^ys  in  a  solitary,  comfortless,  log 
hut  on  the  borders  of  the  wilderness.  Here  he  drooped  and  died, 
as  too  many  like  him  have  died,  heartbroken  and  alone.  A  sad 
mystery  involves  the  last  hours  of  his  life :  it  is  said  that  he  and 
Dr.  Sutor,  another  talented  but  very  dissipated  man,  had  entered 
into  a  compact  to  drink  until  they  both  died.  "Whether  this 
statement  is  true  cannot  now  be  positively  ascertained.  It  is 
certain,  however,  that  Dr.  butor  was  found  dead  upon  the  floor 
of  the  miserable  shanty  occupied  by  his  friend,  and  that  Dr. 
Huskins  was  lying  on  his  bed  in  the  agonies  of  death.  Could 
the  many  fine  pt^ems,  composed  by  Dr.  Huskins  in  his  solitary 
exile,  be  collected  and  published,  wo  feel  assured  that  posterity 
would  do  him  justice,  and  that  his  name  would  rank  high  among 
the  bards  of  the  green  isle. 


i 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  HUSKINS. 

"  Neglected  son  of  genius !  thou  hast  pass'd 

In  broken-hearted  loneliness  away  ; 
And  one  who  prized  thy  talents,  fain  would  cast 

The  cypress-wreath  above  thy  nameless  clay. 

Ah,  could  she  yet  thy  spirit's  flight  delay, 
'Till  the  cold  world,  relenting  from  its  scorn, 
The  fadeless  laurel  round  thy  brows  should  twine. 

Crowning  the  innate  majesty  of  mind, 
By  crushing  poverty  and  sorrow  torn. 

Peace  to  thy  mould'ring  ashes,  till  revive 
Bright  memories  of  thee  in  deathless  song! 

True  to  the  dead.  Time  shall  relenting  give 
The  meed  of  fame  deserved — delayed  too  long, 

And  in  iinniortal  verse  the  bard  again  shall  live  !" 

Alas  1  this  frightful  vice  of  drinking  prevails  throughout  the 
colony  to  an  alarming  extent.  Professional  gentlemen  arc  not 
ashamed  of  being  seen  issuing  from  the  bar-room  of  a  tavern 


Bion, 


LIFU    IN    TlIK    CLKAKINO^J. 


5U 


t-* 


§ 


early  in  tho  morning,  or  of  beinr  caught  reeling  homo  from  the 
same  sink  of  iniquity  late  at  night.    No  sense  of  shame  deems  to 
deter  them  from  tho  pursuit  of  their  darling  sin.    I  have  heard 
tliat  son)e  of  these  regular  toj-ors  place  brandy  beside  their  beds 
that,  should  they  awake  during  tho  night,  they  may  have  within 
their  reach  the  fiery  potion  for  which  they  are  bartering  body 
and  soul.    Some  of  these  persons,  after  having  been  warned  of 
their  danger  by  repeater,  fits  of  delirium  tremens^  have  joined 
the  tee-totallers ;  but  tbeir  abstinence  only  lasted  until  the  rc- 
cstablishment  of  their  heaUh  enabled  them  to  return  to  their  old 
haunts,  and  become  more  hardened  in  their  vile  habits  than 
before.    It  is  to  be  questioned  whether  the  signing  of  any  pledge 
is  likely  to  prove  a  permanent  remedy  for  this  great  moral  evil. 
If  an  appeal  to  the  heart  and  conscience,  and  the  fear  of  incur- 
ring the  displeasure  of  an  oftendcd  God,  are  not  sufficient  to 
deter  a  man  from  becomirig  an  active  instrument  in  the  ruin  of 
himself  and  family,  no  forcible  restraint  upon  hia  animal  desires 
will  1)0  likely  to  elFect  a  real  reformation.    It  appears  to  me  that 
tho  temperance  people  begin  (it  tho  wrong  end  of  the  matter,  by 
restraining  the  animal  propensities  before  they  Iiave  convinced 
the  mind.    If  a  man  abstain  from  drink  only  as  long  as  the  ac- 
cursed thing  is  placed  beyond  his  reach,  it  is  after  all  but  a 
negative  virtue,  to  be  overcome  by  the  first  strong  temptation. 
Were  incurable  drunkards  treated  as  lunatics,  and  a  proper  asy- 
lum provided  for  them  in  every  large  town,  and  the  management 
of  their  affairs  committed  to  their  wives  or  adult  children,  tho 
bare  idea  of  being  confined  under  such  a  plea  would  operate 
more  forcibly  upon  them  than  by  signing  a  pledge,  Avhich  they 
can  break  or  resume  according  to  the  caprice  of  the  moment. 

A  drunkard,  while  under  the  infiiience  of  li(iuor,  is  a  madman 
in  every  sense  of  tho  word,  and  his  mental  aberration  is  often  of 
the  most  dangerous  kind.  Place  him  and  the  confirmed  maniac 
side  by  side,  and  it  would  bo  diilicult  for  a  stranger  to  determine 
whicli  was  the  most  irrational  of  the  two. 

A  friend  related  to  me  the  following  anecdote  of  a  physician 
in  his  native  toAvn : — This  man,  Avho  was  eminent  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  highly  respected  by  all  who  knew  him,  secretly 
indulged  in  the  pernicious  habit  of  dram -drinking,  and  after  a 


I   » 


% 


I*    ■ 


I     ' 


''\ 


mm 


m.'<m..i."-fi'-'-  '.-■-■'" 


CO 


LIFE    IV    TIIR    CLEAUINGS. 


wliilo  bado  fair  to  sink  into  a  liopolcss  dimnkard.  At  the  earnest 
solicitations  of  liis  weopinf^  wife  and  daughter  lie  consented  to 
sign  the  pledge,  and  not  only  ardent  spirits  but  every  sort  of  in- 
toxicating beverage  was  banished  from  the  house. 

The  use  of  alcohol  is  allowed  in  cases  of  sickness  to  the  .nost 
rigid  uisciplinarians,  and  our  doctor  began  to  find  that  keeping  his 
pledge  was  a  more  difficult  matter  than  he  had  at  first  imagined. 
Still,  for  example's  sake,  of  course,  a  man  of  his  standing  in  society 
liad  only  joined  for  example's  saJce ;  ho  did  not  like  openly  to 
break  it.  He  therefore  feigned  violent  toothache,  and  sent  the 
servant  girl  over  to  a  friend's  house  *o  borrow  a  small  phial  of 
brandy. 

The  brandy  was  sent,  with  many  kind  wislies  fo:  the  doctor's 
speedy  recovery.  Tlie  phial  now  came  every  night  to  bo  re- 
filb.d;  and  the  doctor's  toothache  seemed  likely  to  b<j<iome  a  case 
of  incurable  tic  douloureux'  His  f"iond  took  the  alarm.  IIo 
found  it  both  expensive  and  inconvenient,  providing  the  doctor 
vvith  his  nigiiily  dose ;  av'  wii^hing  to  see  hoAV  matters  really 
stood,  he  followed  the  maid  and  the  brandy  one  eve/ling  to  the 
doctor's  house. 

lie  entered  unannounced.  It  was  as  he  suspected.  The  doc- 
tor was  lounging  in  his  easy  chair  before  the  fire,  indulging  in  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter  over  some  paragraph  in  a  newspaper, 
which  he  hold  in  liis  hand. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  J ,  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  so  well.    I 

thought  by  your  sending  for  the  brandy,  that  you  were  dying 
with  the  toothache." 

The  doctor,  rather  confounded — "  Why,  yes ;  I  liavo  been 
padly  troubled  with  it  of  late,  It  does  not  come  on,  however, 
before  eight  o'clock,  and  if  I  cannot  get  a  mouthful  of  brandy,  I 
never  can  get  a  wink  of  sleep  all  niglit  " 

"Did  you  ever  have  it  bcf>iro  you  took  the  pledge  ?" 

"  Never  ,"  paid  the  doctor  emphatically, 

"  Perhaps  the  cold  waier  does  not  agree  with  you  ?" 

The  doctor  began  to  smell  a  rat,  and  fell  vigorously  to  mend- 
ing the  fire. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  J ,"  said  the  other;  "  the  toothache 

is  a  nervoiie  affection.    It  is  the  IramTy  that  is  the  disease.    It 


LIFE    IN    THE    CI-EAKING8. 


Gl 


may  caro  yon  of  an  imaginary  toothache ;   but  I  assure  yon, 
that  it  gives  your  wltb  and  daughter  an  incurable  heartache.''^ 

The  doctor  felt  at  that  moment  a  strange  palpitation  at  his 
own.  The  scales  fell  suddenly  from  his  eyes,  and  for  the  first 
time  his  conduct  appeared  in  its  true  light.  Returning  the 
bottle  to  his  friend,  ho  said  very  humbly — "  Take  it  out  of  my 
sight;  I  feel  my  error  now.  I  will  euro  their  heartache  by 
curing  myself  of  this  beastly  vice." 

The  doctor,  from  that  hour,  became  a  temperate  man.  He 
soon  regained  his  failing  practice,  and  the  esteem  of  his  friends. 
The  appeal  to  his  better  feelings  effected  a  permanent  change  in 
his  habitfl,  which  signing  the  pledge  had  not  been  able  to  do. 
To  keep  up  an  appearance  of  consistency  ho  had  had  recourse  to 
a  mean  subterfuge,  while  touching  his  heart  produced  a  lasting 
"reform. 
/  Drinking  is  the  curse  of  Canada,  and  the  very  low  price  of 
whisky  places  the  temptation  constantly  in  every  one's  reach. 
But  it  is  not  by  adopting  by  main  force  the  Maine  Liquor  law, 
that  our  legislators  will  be  able  to  remedy  the  evil.  Men  natu- 
rally resist  any  oppressive  measures  that  infringe  upon  their 
private  rights,  even  though  such  measures  aro  adopted  solely  for 
their  benefit.  It  is  not  wise  to  thrust  temperance  down  a  man's 
throat ;  and  the  surest  way  to  make  him  a  drunkard  is  to  insist 
upon  his  being  sober.  The  zealous  advocates  of  this  measure 
(and  there  are  many  in  Canada)  know  little  of  their  own,  or  the 
nature  of  others.  It  would  be  the  fruitful  parent  of  hypocrisy, 
and  lay  the  foundation  of  crimes  still  greater  than  the  one  it  is 
expected  to  cure. 

To  wean  a  fellow-creature  from  the  indulgence  of  a  gross  sen- 
sual propensity,  as  I  said  before,  we  must  first  convince  the 
mind :  the  reform  must  commence  there.  Merely  withdrawing 
the  means  of  gratification,  and  treating  a  rational  being  like  a 
child,  will  never  achieve  a  great  moral  conquest. 

In  pagan  countries,  the  missionaries  can  only  rely  upon  the 
sincerit}^  of  the  converts,  who  are  edjcated  when  children  in 
thtir  schools ;  and  if  we  wish  to  see  drunkenness  banished  from 
our  towns  and  cities,  we  must  prepare  our  children  from  their 
earliest  infancy  to  resist  the  growing  evil. 


! 


I:  r 


\l 


i      I 


02 


UFS   IN    TUB   0LEARIN08. 


Show  yonr  boy  a  drunkard  wallowing  in  tho  wtroots,  like  somo 
unclean  animal  in  the  mire.  Every  side-walk,  on  a  niarkot-day, 
will  furnish  you  with  examploH.  Point  out  to  hiiu  tho  immo- 
rality of  such  a  degrading  position;  make  him  fully  sensible  of 
all  its. disgusting  horrors.  Tell  him  that  God  has  threatened  in 
words  of  unmistakable  import,  that  he  will  exclude  such  from 
his  heavenly  kingdom.  Convince  him  that  such  loathsome  im- 
l)urity  must  totally  unfit  tho  soul  for  communion  with  its  God — 
that  such  a  state  may  truly  be  looked  upon  aa  tho  second  death — 
tho  foul  corruption  and  decay  of  both  body  and  soul.  Teach  tho 
child  to  pray  against  drunkenness,  as  he  would  against  murder, 
lying,  and  theft ;  show  him  that  all  these  crimes  are  often  com- 
prised in  this  one,  which  in  too  many  cases  has  been  the  fruitful 
parent  of  them  all. 

When  the  boy  grows  to  be  a  man,  and  mingles  in  the  world 
of  men,  he  will  not  easily  forget  the  lesson  impressed  on  his 
young  heart,  lie  will  remember  his  early  prayers  against  this 
terrible  vice — will  recall  that  disgusting  spectacle — and  will 
naturally  shrink  from  the  same  contamination.  Should  ho  bo 
overcome  by  temptation,  the  voice  of  conscience  will  plead  with 
him  in  such  decided  tones  that  she  will  be  heard,  and  ho  will  bo 
ashamed  of  becoming  the  idiot  thing  he  once  feared  and  loathed. 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  RETURN. 


r 


"  Oh  !  ask  not  of  my  morn  of  life, 

How  dark  and  dull  it  gloom'd  o'er  me ; 
Sharp  words  and  fierce  domestic  strife, 

Robb'd  my  young  heart  of  all  its  gico — 
The  sobs  of  one  heart-broken  wife,     > 

Low,  stifled  moans  of  agony. 
That  fell  upon  my  shrinking  ear, 
In  hollow  tones  of  woe  and  fear  ; 
As  crouching,  weeping,  at  her  side, 

I  felt  my  soul  with  sorrow  swell, 
In  pity  begg'd  her  not  to  hide 

The  cause  of  grief  I  knew  too  well ; 
Then  wept  afresh  to  hear  hsr  pray 
That  death  might  take  us  both  away  ! 


LIFE   IM   TUB    OLEAUINOa. 


08 


■ 


"Away  from  whom?— Alan  !  what  ill 

Proaa'ii  tho  warm  life-hopes  from  her  heart  ? 

Was  she  not  young  and  lovt-ly  Htill  ? 
What  mado  tho  frequent  tear-drops  start 

From  eyes,  whoso  light  of  love  could  fill 
My  inmost  soul,  and  b!\do  mo  part 
From  noisy  comrades  in  tho  street, 

To  kiss  her  cheek,  so  cold  and  pale. 
To  clasp  her  neck,  and  hold  her  hand, 

And  list  the  oft-repeated  tale 
Of  woes  I  could  not  understand ; 

Yet  felt  their  force,  as,  day  by  day, 

I  watch'd  her  fade  from  life  away  ? 

"  And  he,  the  cause  of  all  tlxis  woe, 

Her  mate— tho  father  of  her  cliild, 
In  dread  I  saw  him  come  and  go. 

With  many  an  0;Wful  oath  roviled  ; 
And  from  harsh  word,  and  harsher  blow, 

(In  answer  to  her  pleadings  mild,) 
I  shrank  in  terror,  till  I  caught 
From  her  meek  eyes  th'  unwhisper'd  thought— 

*  Bear  it,  my  Edward,  for  thy  mother's  sake  J 
He  cares  not,  in  hia  sullen  mood. 

If  this  poor  heart  with  anguish  break.' 
That  look  was  felt,  and  imderstood 

By  her  young  son,  thus  school'd  to  bear 

Ilia  wrongs,  to  soothe  her  deep  despair. 

"  Oh,  how  I  loatli'd  him  ! — how  I  scorn'd 

His  idiot  laugh,  or  demon  frown — 
Ilis  features  bloated  and  deform'd  ; 

Tho  jests  with  which  he  sought  to  druwii 
The  consciousness  of  sin,  or  storm'd, 

To  put  reproof  or  anger  down. 
Oh,  'tis  a  fearful  thing  to  feci 
Stern,  sullen  hate,  the  bosom  steel 

'Gainst  one  whom  nature  bids  us  prize 
Tho  first  link  in  her  mystic  chain ; 

Which  binds  in  strong  and  tender  ties 
The  heart,  while  reason  rules  the  brain. 


Mi 


:i 


■ 
i 

1  J 
>  I 


■"■---*»*«t¥*»*««it^ 


04 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEAUIN08. 


Anil  mitif^ling  1<)V«?  with  holy  foar, 
K/ondcrH  tho  paront  douhly  dear. 

**  I  cannot  bear  to  think  liow  tloep 

The  liatrnd  was  I  boro  liim  then  ; 
But  hfl  has  Blopt  hiH  last  long  sloop, 

And  I  havo  trod  the  haunts  of  mon ; 
Ilavo  felt  tho  tide  of  passion  sweep 

Through  mar-  ood's  fiery  heart,  and  when 
By  strong  temptation  toas'd  and  tried, 
I  thought  how  that  lost  father  died  ] 

Unwept,  unpitied,  in  his  sin  ; 
Then  tears  of  burning  shame  would  rise, 

And  storn  remorse  awake  Within 
A  host  of  mental  agonies. 

He  fell — by  one  dark  vice  defiled  ; 

Was  I  more  pure — his  erring  child  ? 

"Yes — erring  child; — but  to  my  tale. 

My  mother  loved  the  lost  one  still. 
From  the  deep  fount  which  could  not  fail 

(Through  changes  dark,  from  good  to  ill,) 
Her  woman's  heart — and  sad  and  pale, 

She  yielded  to  his  stubborn  will ; 
Perchance  she  felt  remonstrance  vain — 
The  effort  to  resist  gave  pain. 
But  carefully  she  hid  her  grief 

From  him,  the  idol  of  her  youth ; 
And  fondly  hoped,  against  belief. 

That  her  deep  love  ha<l  stedfast  truth 
Would  touch  his  heart,  and  win  him  back 
From  Folly's  dark  and  devious  track. 

"Vain  hope !  the  drunkard's  heart  is  hard  as  stone; 

No  grief  disturbs  hia  selfish,  sensual  joy ; 
His  wife  may  weep,  his  starving  children  groan, 

And  Poverty  with  cruel  gripe  annoy  : 
He  neither  hears,  nor  heeds  their  famish'd  moan ; 

The  glorious  wine-cup  owns  no  base  alloy. 
Surrounded  by  a  low,  degraded  train, 
His  fiendish  laugh  defiance  bids  to  pain  ; 


1 


LIFE    IN    THIS    CLEAUINGH. 


CO 


IIo  liiigH  tho  cuji^inorfl  tloar  than  fricmln  to  l»im-- 
Nor  HOPH  Htorii  ruin  froin  tlio  gublet  riHO, 

Nor  flames  of  holl  canvring  o'or  thfi  brim— 
Tho  lava  flood  that  Klad.i  IiIh  bloodshot  cyca 

PoisoiiH  alike  his  body  atid  hid  houI, 

Till  reason  lioa  Helf-murder'd  in  the  bowl. 

**  It  was  tt  i^firk  and  fearful  winter  night, 

Louil  roar'd  tho  tempest  round  our  hovel  homo  ; 
Cold,  hungry,  wet,  and  weary  was  our  plight, 

And  Htill  we  listen'd  for  his  step  to  como. 
My  poor  sick  mother! — 'twas  a  piteous  sight 

To  see  her  shrink  and  shiver,  as  our  doino 
Shook  to  the  rattling  blast ;  and  to  tho  door 
Sho  crept,  to  look  along  tho  bleak,  black  moor. 

lie  comes — he  comes  ! — and,  quivering  all  with  dread, 
Sho  spoke  kind  welcome  to  that  sinful  man. 

His  solo  reply — '  Got  supper — give  mo  bread !' 
Then,  with  a  Hneer,  ho  tautitingly  began 

To  mock  tho  want  that  stared  him  in  tho  face, 

Her  bitter  sorrow,  and  his  own  disgrace, 

'  I  have  no  money  to  procure  you  food. 

No  wood,  no  coal,  to  raise  a  cheerful  fire ; 
The  madd'ning  cup  may  warm  your  frozen  blood — 

We  die,  for  lack  of  that  which  you  desire  ! 
Sho  ceased,^-erect  one  moment  there  he  stood, 

Tho  foam  upon  hie  lip ;  with  fiendish  ire 
Ho  seized  a  knife  wliich  glittered  in  his  way. 
And  rushed  with  fuiy  on  his  helpless  prey. 

Then  from  a  dusky  nook  I  fiercely  sprung. 
The  strength  of  manhood  in  tliat  single  bound  : 

Around  his  bloated  form  I  tightly  clung, 

m 

And  headlong  brought  tho  murderer  to  the  ground. 
We  fell — his  temples  struck  the  cold  hearth  stone. 
The  bloo<'  -pushed  forth — he  died  without  a  moan  ! 

"  Yes — by  my  hand  ho  died  I  one  frantic  cry 

Of  mortal  anguish  thrilled  my  madden'd  brain, 
Recalling  sense  and  mera'ry.     Desperately 
I  strove  to  raise  my  fallen  sire  again. 


1. 1 


riiTiiiinriii"-  -"^iM^iT 


66 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEAniNOS. 


And  calloil  upon  my  mother ;  but  her  cyo 
Was  closed  alike  to  sorrow,  want,  and  pain. 

Oh,  what  a  night  was  that  ! — when  all  alone 

I  watched  my  dead  beside  the  cold  hearth-stone. 
I  thought  myself  a  monster, — that  the  deed 

To  save  my  mother  was  too  promptly  done. 
I  could  not  see  her  gentle  bosom  bleed, 

And  quite  forgot  the  father,  in  the  son  ; 

For  her  I  mourn'd — for  her,  through  bitter  years, 
Pour'd  forth  my  soul  in  unavailing  tears. 

"  The  world  approved  the  act ;  but  on  my  soul 

There  lay  a  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt, 
A  biting  sense  of  crime,  beyond  control  : 

By  my  rash  hand  a  father's  blood  was  spilt. 
And  I  abjured  for  aye  the  death-drugg'd  bowl. 

This  is  my  tale  of  woe ;  and  if  thou  wilt 
Be  wam'd  by  me,  the  sparkling  cup  resign  ; 
A  serpent  lurks  within  the  ruby  wine. 

Guileful  and  strong  as  him  who  erst  bctray'd 
The  world's  first  parents  in  their  bowers  of  joy. 

Let  not  the  tempting  draught  your  soul  pcrvaJo  ; 
It  shines  to  kill  and  sparkles  to  destroy. 

The  drunkard's  sentence  has  been  seahd  above,— 

Exiled  for  ever  from  tlia  heaven  of  love  !" 


I 


CHAPTER  III. 

«'  Truth,  Wisdom,  Virtue— the  etcrna  throe, 
Great  moral  agents  of  the  universe — 
8Iiall  yet  reform  and  beautify  the  world, 
And  render  it  fit  residence  for  Ilim 
In  whom  these  glorious  attributes  combined 
To  render  perfect  manhood  one  with  God  !" 

8.  M. 

TiTSRK  is  no  calculating  tlic  immense  benefit  which  the  colony 
will  dei'ivo  from  tho  present  liberal  provision  mado  for  tbo 
oducation  of  the  rising  generation. 


LIFE   IN    TUB   CLEARINGS. 


61 


' 


A  few  years  ago  schools  were  so  far  apart,  and  the  tuition  of 
children  so  expensive,  that  none  but  the  very  better  class  could 
scrape  money  enough  together  to  send  their  cliildreu  to  be 
instructed.  Under  the  present  system,  every  idle  ragged  child 
in  the  streets,  ')y  washing  liis  face  and  bauds,  and  presenting 
himself  to  the  f  eo  school  of  his  ward,  can  receive  the  same 
benefit  as  the  rest. 

What  an  inestimable  blessing  is  this,  and  how  greatlv  v.ril  this 
education  of  her  population  tend  to  increase  the  wealth  and  pros- 
Ijin-ity  of  the  province!  It  is  a  certain  means  of  calling  out  and 
making  available  all  the  talent  in  the  colony ;  and  as,  thanks  bo 
to  God,  genius  never  was  confined  to  any  class,  tlie  poor  will  be 
more  benefited  by  this  wise  and  munificent  arrangement  than 
the  rich. 

These  schools  are  supported  by  a  dist  'ict  tax,  which  falls  upon 
the  property  of  persons  .veil  able  to  pay  it;  but  avarice  and 
bigotry  are  already  at  work,  to  endeavour  to  deprive  the  young 
of  this  new-found  blessing.     Persons  grumble  at  having  to  pay 


poor  people  want   their 
tlieir  instruction  has  no 


this  additional  tax.  They  say,  "If 
children  taught,  let  them  pay  for  it: 
right  to  be  forced  from  our  earnings." 

What  a  narrow  prejudice  is  tliis — what  miserable,  short- 
sighted policy !  The  education  of  these  neglected  children,  by 
making  tliem  better  citizens,  will  in  the  long  run  prove  a  great 
protection  both  to  life  and  property. 

Then  the  priests  of  different  persuasions  lift  up  their  voices 
because  no  particular  creed  is  allowed  to  l)o  taught  in  the 
aeminaries,  and  exclaim — "The  children  will  bo  infidels.  Those 
schools  are  godless  and  immoral  in  the  extreme."  Yes ;  children 
will  bo  taught  to  love  each  other  without  any  such  paltry  dis- 
tinctions as  party  and  creed.  The  rich  and  the  poor  will  meet 
together  to  learn  the  sweet  courtesies  of  a  common  humanity, 
imd  prejudice  and  avarice  and  bigotry  cannot  bear  that. 

There  is  a  spirit  abroad  in  the  world — and  an  evil  spirit  it  is — 
which  through  all  ages  has  instigated  the  rich  to  look  down  with 
contemptuous  feelings  of  superiority  on  the  humble  occupations 
and  inferior  circumstances  of  the  poor.  Now,  that  this  spirit  is 
diametrically  (apposed  to  the  bonevol'^nt  precepts  of  Christianity, 


hi 


68 


LIFE    IN   Tins    CLEARINGS. 


tho  fact  of  our  blessed  Lord  performing  his  painful  mission  on 
earth  in  no  higher  capacity  than  that  of  a  working  mechanic, 
ought  suflficiently  to  show.  What  divine  benevolence — what 
god-like  humility  was  displayed  in  this  heroic  act!  Of  .;U  the 
wonderful  events  in  his  wonderful  history,  is  there  on©  more 
astonishing  than  this — 

"  That  Heaven's  high  Majesty  his  court  should  keep 
In  a  clay  cottage,  by  each  blast  controU'J, — 
That  Glory  itself  should  seive  our  hopes  and  fears, 
And  free  Eternity  submit  to  years  ?" 

Wnat  a  noble  triumph  was  this,  over  tho  cruel  and  unjust 
pi'ejudices  of  mankind  1  it  might  truly  be  termed  the  divine 
philosophy  of  virtue.  This  condescension  on  the  part  of  tho 
great  Creator  of  the  universe,  ought  to  have  been  sufficient  to 
have  rendered  labour  honourable  in  the  minds  of  his  followers ; 
and  we  still  indulge  the  hope,  that  the  moral  and  intellectual 
improvement  of  mankind  will  one  day  restore  labour  to  her 
proper  pedestal  in  the  temple  of  virtue. 

The  chosen  disciples  of  our  Great  Master — those  to  whom  ho 
entrusted  tho  precious  code  of  moral  laws  that  was  destined  to 
overthrow  the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  reform  a  degraded  world — 
were  poor  uneducated  men.  The  most  brilliant  gems  are  often 
enclosed  in  tho  rudest  incrustations ;  and  Ho  who  formed  tho 
bodies  and  souls  of  men,  well  knew  that  the  most  powerful 
intellects  are  often  concealed  amidst  the  darkness  and  rubbish  of 
uneducated  minds.  Such  minds,  enlightened  and  purified  by  his 
wonder-working  Spirit,  lie  sent  forth  to  publish  his  message  of 
glad  tidings  through  the  earth. 

The  want  of  education  and  moral  training  is  the  only  real 
barrier  that  exists  between  the  different  classes  of  men.  Nature, 
reason,  and  Christianity,  recognise  no  other.  Pride  may  say 
nay ;  but  pride  was  always  a  har,  and  a  great  hater  of  the  truth. 
Wealth,  in  a  hard,  abstract  point  of  view,  can  never  make  any. 
Take  away  tho  wealth  from  an  ignorant  man,  and  he  remains 
just  tho  same  being  ho  was  before  he  possessed  it,  and  is  no  way 
bettered  from  tho  mere  circumstance  of  his  having  once  been 
rich.    But  let  that  wealth  procure  for  him  the  only  true  and 


imperishal 
good  to  hi 
religious  t| 
itself  is 
nature,  anl 
his  Creatol 
The  soul 
ti notion  fq 
energies  ir 
without 
ness  ? 

It  is  pa 
human  int 
know  that 
liopeless  d 
obscurity, 
privilege  h 
educated  p 
claiming  ai 
from  the  n 
share  with 
A  small 
mere  articl 
more  than 
classes  mu 
world,  anc 
misery,  wl 
of  tears. 

The  ign< 
sci)arate  tl 
stumbling 
which  no^ 
Their  supi 
the  histor 
the  very  I 
who  were 
friends  of 
pen  and  tl 


LIFK    IN    TUt:    CLtAUlNOS. 


GO 


litis 

[en 
Ind 


imperishable  riches—  knowledge,  and  with  it  the  power  to  do 
good  iLo  hinaself  and  others,  which  is  the  great  end  of  moral  and 
religious  training — and  a  mighty  structure  is  raised  which  death 
itseli'  is  unable  to  destroy.  The  man  has  indeed  changed  his 
nature,  and  ia  fast  regaining  the  resemblance  be  once  bore  to 
his  Creator. 

The  soul  of  man  is  of  no  rank,  sex,  or  colour.  It  claims  a  dis- 
tinction far  above  all  these;  and  shall  we  behold  its  glorious 
energies  im{)risoned  in  the  obscene  den  of  ignorance  and  want, 
without  making  the  least  oftbrt  to  enlighten  its  hideous  dark- 
ness ? 

It  is  painful  to  reflect  upon  the  vast  barren  wilderness  of 
liunian  intellect  which  on  every  side  stretchos  around  us — to 
know  that  thousands  of  powerful  minds  are  condemned  by  the 
hopeless  degradation  of  their  circumstances  to  struggle  on  in 
obscurity,  without  one  gleam  of  light.  What  a  high  and  noble 
privilege  has  the  Almighty  conferred  upon  the  wealthy  and  well- 
educated  portion  of  mankind,  in  giving  them  the  means  of  re- 
claiming and  cult!  /ating  those  barren  minds,  and  of  lifting  them 
from  tlie  mire  of  ignorance  in  which  they  at  present  wallow,  to 
share  with  them  the  moral  dignity  of  thinking  men ! 

A  small  portion  of  the  wealth  that  is  at  present  bestowed  upon 
mere  articles  of  luxury,  or  in  scenes  of  riot  and  dissipation,  would 
more  than  effect  this  great  purpose.  The  education  of  the  poorer 
classes  must  add  greatly  to  the  well-being  and  happiness  of  the 
world,  and  tend  to  diminish  the  awful  amount  of  crimes  and 
misery,  which  up  to  the  present  moment  has  rendered  it  a  valo 
of  tears. 

The  ignorance  of  the  masses  must,  while  it  remains,  for  ever 
separate  them  from  their  more  fortunate  brethren.  Kcmovo  this 
stumbling  block  out  of  the  way,  and  the  hard  lino  of  demarcation 
which  now  divides  them  will  soften,  and  gradually  melt  away. 
Their  supposed  inferiority  lies  in  their  situation  alone.  Turn  to 
the  history  of  those  great  men  whom  education  has  -escued  from 
the  very  lowest  walks  of  life,  and  you  will  find  a  mlj'hty  host, 
who  were  in  their  ago  and  day  the  companions,  the  advisers,  the 
friends  of  princes — men  who  have  written  their  names  with  the 
pen  and  the  sword  upon  the  pillars  of  time,  and,  if  immortality 


H 


,!  'i  N 


i    I 


t 


• , 


!.[ 


f 
t 

f 


70 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARIN08. 


\K 


can  exist  in  a  world  of  constant  change,  have  been  rendered 
iiinnortal  by  their  words  or  deeds. 

Lot  poverty  and  bigotry  do  their  utmost  to  keep  snch  spirit*, 
wliilo  living,  in  the  shades  of  obscurity,  death,  the  groat  ecpializcr, 
always  restores  to  its  possessors  the  rights  of  mind,  and  bids  them 
triumph  for  ever  over  tho  Ioav  prejudices  of  their  fellow-men, 
wlio,  when  reading  the  works  of  Burns,  or  gazing  on  the  paint- 
ings of  Raphael,  reproach  them  with  tho  lowliness  of  their 
origin ;  yea,  tho  proudest  who  have  taste  to  appreciate  their 
glorious  creations,  rejoice  that  genius  could  thus  triumph  over 
temporary  obstacles. 

It  has  often  been  assorted  by  tho  rich  and  nobly-born,  tliat  it" 
tho  poorer  classes  were  as  well  educated  as  themselves,  it  would 
render  them  familiar  and  x^resumptuous,  and  they  would  no 
longer  pay  to  their  superiors  in  station  that  deference  whicli 
must  exist  for  the  well-being  of  society.  We  view  the  subject 
with  far  other  eyes,  and  conclude  from  analogy,  that  that  Avhi(!li 
has  conferred  such  incalculable  benefits  on  the  rich,  and  helped 
mainly  to  place  them  in  the  position  they  now  hold,  could  not  bo 
di>tri mental  to  tho  poor.  The  man  who  knows  his  duty,  is  more 
likely  to  i)erform  it  avoU  than  the  ignorant  man,  whose  services 
are  compiilsoiy,  and  Avhose  actions  are  influenced  by  tho  moral 
responsibility  whl"h  r%  right  knowledge  must  give. 

My  eirncst  wish  for  universal  education  involves  no  dislike  to 
royal  rule,  or  for  those  distinctions  of  birth  and  wealth  which  I 
consider  necessary  for  the  well-being  of  society.  It  little  matters 
by  what  name  we  call  tliem ;  men  of  talent  and  education  Avill 
exert  a  certain  influence  over  tho  minds  of  their  fellow-mori, 
which  will  alwavs  be  felt  and  acknowledged  in  tho  world  if 
mankind  were  equalized  to-morrow.  Perfect,  unndnlterated 
I'epublicanism,  is  a  beautiful  but  fallacious  chimera  which  never 
has  existed  upon  tho  earth,  and  which,  if  tho  Biblo  bo  true,  (and 
we  have  no  doubts  on  tho  subject,)  we  are  told  never  will  exist 
in  heaven.  Still  we  consider  that  it  would  bo  true  wisdom  and 
policy  in  those  who  possess  a  large  share  of  tho  good  things  of 
this  world,  to  make  labour  honourable,  by  exalting  the  i)Oor 
operative  into  an  intelligent  moral  agent.  Surely  it  is  no  small 
privilege  to  bo  able  to  bind  up  his  bruised  and  broken  heart — to 


wipe  tho 
bid  him  oi 
indeed,  to 
the  mind, 
nity,  is  loss 
struggling 
poverty. 

It  is  im 
fashion  rei 
"here  is  an 
rich  man  v 
but  high-m 
tones  whicl 
miug  his  M 
who  are  ric 
l)crformed, 
joy.  Nor  ( 
vant  is  a  re 
with  less  r 
station  enti 
liates  you  i 
an  envious, 

When  w 
crime,  wo  s 
the  earth. 
the  talents 
national  an 
and  thougl 
slow,  this  I 
effect  a  gre 
after  eowin 
I  he  harves 
\  ivify  and 
arrives,  for 
after  all  hi: 

During  t 
proclaimed 
and  bo  insi 


UF£    IN    THE    CLEAKINU4. 


71 


wipe  the  (lust  from  his  brow,  and  tlio  tears  from  his  ej'cs — and 
bid  liiui  once  more  stand  erect  in  his  Mukcr'^  image.  Thia  is, 
indeed,  to  becom/j  the  benefacttn  both  of  his  soul  and  body  ;  for 
tlie  mind,  once  convinced  of  its  own  real  worth  and  native  dig- 
nity, is  less  prone  to  fall  into  low  and  degrading  vices,  tlian  when 
struggling  with  ignorance  and  the  galling  chain  of  despised 
poverty. 

It  is  impossible  for  the  most  depraved  votary  of  wcaltli  and 
fashion  really  to  despise  a  poor,  honest,  well-informed  man. 
"here  is  an  aristocracy  of  virtue  as  well  as  of  wealth  ;  and  the 
rich  man  who  dares  to  cast  ur.deserved  contempt  upon  his  poor, 
l)ut  high-minded  brother,  hears  a  voice  widiin  him  which,  in 
tones  whicli  cannot  bo  misunderstood,  re^cjves  him  for  blasphe- 
ndng  his  Maker's  image.  A  glorious  mission  is  conferred  on  you 
who  are  rich  and  nobly  born,  which,  if  well  and  conscientiously 
l)erformed,  will  make  tlie  glad  arch  of  heaven  ring  with  songs  of 
joy.  Nor  deem  that  you  will  be  worse  served  because  your  ser- 
vant is  a  religious,  well-educated  man,  or  that  you  will  be  treated 
with  less  respect  and  attention  by  one  who  knows  that  yo\ir 
station  entitles  you  to  it,  than  by  the  rude,  ignorant  slave,  who 
hates  you  in  his  heart,  and  performs  his  appointed  services  with 
an  envious,  discontented  spirit. 

When  Avo  consider  that  ignorance  is  the  fruitful  parent  of 
crime,  wo  should  imito  with  lieart  and  voice  to  banish  it  from 
the  earth.  We  should  devote  what  means  we  can  spar 3,  and 
the  talents  with  which  God  has  endowed  us,  in  furthering  every 
national  and  benevolent  institution  set  on  foot  for  tliis  purpose; 
and  though  the  progress  of  impnn'ement  may  at  first  appear 
slow,  this  should  not  discourage  an}'  one  from  endeavoring  to 
effect  a  great  and  noble  purpose.  Tlaiiy  months  must  intervene, 
after  cowing  the  crop,  before  the  husbandman  can  expect  to  reap 
,iie  harvest.  The  winter  snows  must  cover,  the  spring  rains 
vivify  and  nourish,  and  the  summer  sun  ripen,  before  the  autumn 
arrives,  for  the  ingathering  of  his  labour,  and  then  the  increase, 
after  all  his  toil  and  watching,  nmst  be  with  God. 

During  the  time  of  our  blessed  Lord's  sojourn  upon  earth,  ho 
proclaimed  the  harvest  to  be  plenteous  and  the  labourers  few; 
and  ho  instructed  his  disciples  to  pray  to  the  Lord  of  the  harvest 


(  t 


\  '  ( 

'  i 

i 

I 
f 

I 

: 

■ 

-     ;         r 
1     I 
< 


ma  m ,  •MiMiUKai'Jv^'j 


72 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEARINOK. 


to  scud  more  labourers  into  tlie  field.  Does  it  not,  therefore, 
behove  those  who  live  in  a  more  enlightened  age — when  tlio 
truth  of  the  Gospel,  which  he  scaled  with  his  blood,  has  been 
j)reachcd  in  almost  every  country — to  pray  the  Father  of  Spirits 
to  proportion  the  labourers  to  the  wants  of  his  people,  so  that 
Christian  kmdness,  brotherly  love,  and  moral  improvement,  may 
go  hand  in  hand,  and  keep  pace  with  increasing  literary  and 
scientific  knowledge  ? 

A  new  country  like  Canada  cannot  value  the  education  of  her 
people  too  highly.  The  development  of  all  the  talent  within  the 
province  will  in  the  end  prove  her  real  worth,  for  from  this 
source  every  blessing  and  improvement  must  flow.  The  great- 
ness of  a  nation  can  more  truly  be  estimated  by  the'  wisdom  and 
intelligence  of  her  people,  than  by  the  mere  amount  of  specie 
she  may  possess  in  her  treasury.  The  money,  under  the  bad 
management  of  ignorant  rulers,  would  add  but  little  to  the  well- 
being  of  the  community,  while  the  intelligence  which  could 
make  a  smaller  sum  available  in  contributing  to  the  general  good, 
is  in  itself  an  inexhaustible  mine  of  wealth. 

If  a  few  enlightened  minds  are  able  to  add  so  much  strength 
and  importance  to  the  country  to  which  they  belong,  how  much 
greater  must  that  country  become  if  all  her  people  possessed  thif? 
intelligence!  How  impossible  it  would  be  to  conquer  a  country, 
if  she  could  rely  upon  the  united  wisdom  of  an  educated  people 
to  assist  her  in  her  hour  of  need !  The  force  of  arras  could  never 
subdue  a  nation  thus  held  together  by  the  strong  hands  of  intel- 
lectual fellowship. 

To  the  wisdom  of  her  educated  men,  Britain  owes  the  present 
position  she  holds  among  the  nations.  The  power  of  mind  has 
subdued  all  the  natural  obstacles  that  impeded  her  course, 
and  has  placed  her  above  all  her  competitors.  She  did  not  owe 
her  greatness  to  extent  of  territory.  Look  at  the  position  she 
occupies  upon  the  map — a  mere  speck,  when  compared  with 
several  European  nations.  It  was  not  to  her  superior  courage, 
great  as  that  is  acknowledged  to  be ;  the  French,  the  Germans, 
the  Spaniards,  are  as  brave,  as  far  as  mere  courage  is  concerned, 
are  as  ready  to  attack  and  as  slow  to  yield,  as  the  lion-hearte .1 
king  himself.    No,  it  is  to  the  moral  power  of  her  educated 


. 


classes  tl 
conio  m 
contend 
liim  ;  to 
ments  of 
ntore  caK 
those  wo 
commerc 
and  rendi 
If  edu( 
have  beer 
history — 
inestiniab 

Yet  I 
wasting  t 
man  may 
comprehe 
The  becL ; 
tne  Latin 
after  life,  i 
dead  lettei 
tliink,  to  I 
by  tlie  rig 
tnunicate 
heneive  kr 
chemistry, 
belief  in  t 
woman  a 
Rtjing  beyf 
light ! "  W( 
constant  p 
crimes  are 
ence  of  b 
incapable  < 
so.     Ue  gi 
happen  to 
from  any 
respecting 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARIKCS. 


73 


fi 


I         ' 


1U3 


ith 


ited 


classes  that  slio  owes  her  BU»)eriority.  It  is  more  difficult  to  over- 
come luind  tlmn  matter.  To  contend  with  the  former,  is  t<> 
contend  with  God  himself^  fur  all  true  knowledge  is  derived  from 
lilni ;  to  contend  with  tlie  latter,  is  to  fight  with  the  grosser  ele- 
ments of  the  earth,  whic'i.  -.eing  corruptible  in  their  nature,  arc 
more  easily  overcome.  F:om  her  educated  men  have  sprung  all 
those  wonderful  discoveries  in  science,  which  have  extended  the 
commerce  of  Great  Britain,  enlarged  her  capacity  for  usefiUness, 
and  rendered  her  the  general  benefactress  of  mankind. 

If  education  has  accomplished  these  miracles — for  they  Wuuld 
have  been  regarded  as  such  in  a  more  remote  period  of  the  world's 
history — think  of  what  importance  it  is  to  Canada  to  bestOAV  this 
inestimable  gift  upon  her  children. 

Yet  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the  sons  of  the  poor  omigrar.t 
Avasting  their  valuable  time  in  ocquiring  Latin  and  Greek.  A 
man  may  be  highly  educated,  may  possess  the  most  lofty  and 
comprehensive  mind,  without  knowing  one  syllable  of  either. 
The  beoi,  ye.'irs  of  a  boy's  life  are  often  thrown  away  in  acquiring 
the  Latin  language,  which  often  proves  of  little  use  to  hira  in 
after  life,  and  which,  for  the  want  of  practice,  becomes  to  him  a 
dead  letter,  as  well  as  a  dead  language.  Let  the  boy  bo  taught  to 
think,  to  know  the  meaning  thorougldy  of  what  he  learns,  and, 
by  the  riglit  use  of  his  reflective  faculties,  be  enabled  to  com- 
municate the  knowledge  thus  acquired  to  others.  A  compre- 
hend ve  knowledrre  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  of  history,  geography, 
chemistry,  and  mathematics,  together  with  a  deep  and  unbigoted 
belief  in  the  great  truths  of  Christianity,  would  render  a  man  or 
woman  a  liighly  intellectual  and  rational  companion,  without 
going  beyond  the  palo  of  plaii  English. — "  Light !  give  me  more 
light ! "  were  the  dyinj.;  words  of  Goiithe ;  and  this  should  be  the 
constant  prayer  of  all  rational  souls  to  the  Father  of  light.  More 
crimes  are  connnitted  through  ignorance  than  through  the  influ- 
ence of  bad  and  malignant  passions.  An  ignorant  man  is 
incapable  of  judging  correctly,  however  anxious  he  may  be  to  do 
so.  lie  groi)es  in  the  dark  like  a  blind  man  ;  and  if  he  should 
happen  to  stumble  on  the  right  path,  it  is  more  by  arcident  than 
from  any  correct  idea  wliich  has  been  formed  in  his  mind 
respecting  it. 


muMmi 


Y4 


LIFE    IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


I.! 


Tlio  miud  wJiich  onco  begins  to  feel  a  rolLsli  for  ftcqnirin- 
knowledge  is  not  easily  Batisfied.  The  more  it  kuowy,  the  less  it 
thinks  of  its  own  acquirements,  and  tlie  more  anxious  it  becomes 
to  arrive  at  the  truth ;  and  finding  that  perfection  ia  not  a  growtli 
of  earth,  it  carries  its  earnest  longings  beyond  this  worl'l,  and  s'^t-ks 
it  in  communior  with  the  Deity.  If  the  young  could  once  be 
fully  persuaded  that  there  was  no  disgrace  in  labour,  in  honest, 
liononrablo  poverty,  but  a  deep  and  lasting  disgrace  in  ign<  rrnoi" 
and  lir. -morality  thvir  educntion  would  bo  conducted  on  tli'' 
rvist  v'iijflfli  ri  ;d  [Ian,  and  prodiico  the  most  beneficial  re- 
sults, 

TL^  po  ;aj  v^ho  could  have  recourse  to  a  book  for  amuse- 
ment, instead  of  >  n'ng  a  leisure  hour  in  tlio  bar-room  of  u 
tavern,  would  be  more  likely  to  promote  the  comfort  and 
respectability  of  his  family.  Why  should  the  labourer  ])o 
debarred  from  shari.ig  witb  the  rich  the  great  world  of  the  pa.-;t, 
and  b"i  able  to  rank  amongst  his  best  friends  the  distinguished 
men  ci  all  creeds  and  countries,  and  to  feel  for  these  dead 
worthies  (who,  thanks  to  the  immortal  art  of  printing,  still  live 
in  tlieir  works)  the  warmest  gratitude  and  admiration  ?  Tho 
very  mention  of  some  names  awaken  in  tho  mind  the  most  lively 
emotion.  We  recall  their  beautiful  thoughts  to  memory,  and 
repeat  them  with  as  much  earnestness  as  though  tho  dead  spako 
again  through  our  lips.  .  .    *• 

Of  all  the  heaven-inspired  inventions  of  man,  there  are  none 
to  which  we  are  so  greatly  indebted  as  to  the  art  of  printing. 
To  it  we  shall  yet  owe  tho  emancipation  of  the  larger  portion  of 
mankind  from  a  state  of  mental  and  physical  slavery.  What 
floods  of  light  have  dawned  upon  the  world  since  that  silent 
orator,  the  press,  set  at  hberty  the  imprisoned  thoughts  of  men, 
and  poured  the  wealth  of  mind  among  the  famishing  sons  of 
earth!  Formerly  few  could  read,  because  manuscript  books, 
the  labours  of  the  pen,  were  sold  at  such  an  enormous  price  that 
only  men  of  rank  or  great  wealth  could  afford  to  purchase  them. 
The  peasant,  and  the  landholder  who  employed  him,  were  alike 
ignorant ;  they  could  not  obtain  books,  and  therefore  learning  to 
read  might  well  be  considered  in  those  dark  ages  a  waste  of  time. 
This  profound  ignorance  gave  rise  to  all  those  superstitions  which 


' 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEAi-ilNOS. 


15 


ill  tlio  present  enliglitened  ago  are  regarded  with  sueli  astouisli- 
nieiit  by  tliiuking  minds, 

"Ifow  lould  ".enbible,  good  men,  condemn  poor  old  women  to 
death  for  1  oing  witches?"  wjv"  a  (picstiDn  one  asked  mo  by  my 
neph.  w,  a  fine,  intelligent  br^,  of  eight  years  of  age. 

Now  tliis  boy  liad  rer  1  a  good  deal,  young  as  he  wa.«,  and 
thought  more,  and  was  wiser  in  his  day  and  generation  than 
thef";  „anio  pious  bigots.  Andwliy?  Tho  boy  had  read  tlio 
works  of  moro  enlightened  men,  and,  making  a  right  use  of  his 
reason,  ho  felt  convinced  that  these  men  were  in  error  (although 
he  had  been  born  and  bronght  up  in  tho  backwoods  of  Canada)— 
a  fnct  which  tho  great  Matthew  Halo  was  tanght  by  bitter  \\>g- 
rienco. 

I  liave  said  more  on  this  subject  than  I  at  first  intcndc  '  bn-  i 
feel  deeply  impressed  with  tho  importance  of  it;  and,  lhe;.;?h  i 
confess  myself  wholly  inadequate  to  do  it  tho  justice  ii  de^^r.es, 
I  hope  tho  observations  I  have  mado  will  attract  the  at'ontion  of 
my  Canadian  readers,  and  lead  them  to  study  it  more  tn  idly 
for  themselves.  Thanks  bo  to  God  !  Canada  is  a  free  country  ; 
a  land  of  plenty ;  a  land  exempt  from  pauperism,  burdensome 
taxation,  and  all  tho  ills  which  crush  and  finally  sink  in  ruin 
older  communities.  While  the  vigour  of  young  life  is  yet  hers, 
aijd  she  has  before  her  tho  experionco  of  all  other  nations,  it 
becomes  an  act  of  duty  and  real  2^fif'riotisni  to  give  to  her  child- 
ren the  best  education  that  lies  in  her  power 


THE  POET. 

"  Who  can  read  the  Poet's  dream, 
Shadow  forth  his  glorious  theme, 
And  in  written  language  tell 
The  workings  of  tho  potent  spell, 
Whose  mysterious  tones  impart 
Life  and  vigour  to  his  heart  ? 
'Tis  an  emanation  bright, 
Shooting  from  the  fount  of  Ifght ; 
Flowing  in  upon  the  mind, 
Like  sadden  dayspring  on  the  blind  ; 


;  1 1 


Ny<W"JT*'W»rw-)WW- 


10 


i^li' 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 

Gilding  with  immortal  dyen 
Scenes  unknown  to  common  eyes  ; 
Revealing  to  the  mental  wght 
Visions  of  untold  delight, 
'Tis  the  key  by  Fancy  brought, 
That  opens  up  the  world  of  thought ; 
A  sense  of  power,  a  pleasing  madness, 
A  hope  in  grief,  a  joy  In  sadness, 
A  taste  for  beauty  unalloyed, 
A  love  of  nature  never  cloyed  ; 
The  upward  Hearing  of  a  soul 
Unfcttcr'd  l>y  the  world's  control, 
(Jnward,  heavenward,  ever  tending, 
Itrt  essence  with  the  eternal  blending  ; 
Till,  from  "  mortal  coil  "  shook  free. 
It  shares  the  seraph's  ccstacy." 


, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"Life  Jiiith  it!)  pleasures,  stern  Dentli  liaUi  Its  fc.ars, 
Joy  hath  gay  hiuglitcr,  and  Orief  hitter  tears; 
Uejoioc  with  the  one,  nor  slirinl{  from  tlie  otiier, — 
Yon  cloud  hides  the  sun,  and  death  is  life's  brotlicr ! 
As  the  beam  to  the  day,  so  the  shade  to  tlw  night — 
Ue  certain  Uiat  Ileaveu  orders  ail  for  tlic  right." 

P.M. 

My  dear  reader,  before  we  proceed  further  on  our  jourmy,  it 
may  be  as  well  to  give  you  some  idea  of  how  the  Canadian  peo- 
ple in  towns  spend  their  time.  I  will  endeavour  to  describe  to 
you  the  various  sources  from  whence  they  derive  pleasure  and 
amusement. 

In  large  cities,  like  Montreal  and  Toronto,  the  higher  classes 
are  as  refined  and  intellectual  as  ladies  and  gentlemen  at  home, 
and  spend  their  lives  much  in  the  same  manner.  Their  houses 
abound  in  all  the  elegancies  and  luxuries  of  life,  and  to  step  into 
their  drawing-rooms  you  would  imagine  yourself  still  in  England. 
They  drive  handsomo  carriages,  and  ride  fine  spirited  horses; 


and  if  till 
shape  of 
advantage 
expensive 
the  newcil 
so  uuiveri 
f;i.shion  b^ 
it  are  disc 
choice  of  1 
her  style 
tation  of  t 
j)rcvailing 
her  conii)] 
stance  wo 
skirts  tha 
l)ractice  li 
generally, 
science,  a 
friends,  ai 
You  will  1 
even  in  th 
I  never 
dance  wel 
nmusemoii 
approved 
Scolcli  re 
with  this 
Balls  gi 
by  80cieti< 
Firemen's 
and  lowes 
to  keep  tc 
the  floor  1 
that  presi 
treated  w 
to  the  hijj 
very  amu 
easy  freec 


LIFE    IN   THE    Cl.KAUINUS. 


11 


t'o- 
to 
llid 

ses 
ae, 
scs 
lt(» 

1(1. 

)8; 


nnd  if  tlioy  nro  oncnmbcrcd  with  fewer  doincstic  pests  in  tlio 
nlmpo  of  pampered  servtinta,  they  have,  in  this  respect,  a  decided 
advantage  over  tlieir  European  friends.  Tlioy  dross  well  and 
expensively,  and  are  very  particular  to  liavo  their  clothes  cut  in 
the  newest  fashion.  Men  and  women  adopt  the  reigning  mode 
so  nnivorsally,  that  they  look  all  dressed  alike.  The  moment  a 
fashion  hecoraos  at  all  obsolete,  the  articles  of  dress  made  to  suit 
it  arc  discarded.  In  England,  a  lady  may  jdeaso  herself  in  tho 
choice  of  colonrs,  and  in  adopting  as  much  of  a  fashion  as  siiits 
her  stylo  of  person  and  taste,  but  in  Canada  they  carry  this  inu- 
tation  of  tlio  fashions  of  tho  day  to  extremes.  If  green  was  tho 
])revailing  colour,  every  lady  would  adopt  it,  whether  it  suited 
her  complexion  or  no;  and  if  she  was  over  so  stout,  that  circum- 
stance would  not  prevent  her  from  wearing  lialf-a-dozen  more 
skirts  than  was  necessary,  because  that  absurd  and  nnheiUthy 
jtractico  has  for  a  long  period  prevailed.  Music  is  taught  very 
generally.  Though  very  few  attain  any  great  perfection  in  tho 
science,  a  groat  many  perform  well  enough  to  gratify  tlieir 
friends,  and  contribute  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  social  evening. 
You  will  lind  a  piano  in  every  wealthy  Canadian's  house,  and 
even  in  the  dwellings  of  most  of  the  respectable  mechanics. 

I  never  met  with  a  Canadian  girl  Avho  could  not  dance,  and 
dance  well.  It  soems  born  in  them,  and  it  is  their  favourite 
amusemont.  Polkas,  waltzes,  .".nd  quadrilles,  are  tho  dances  most 
approved  in  their  private  and  public  assemblies.  Tho  eight 
►Scotch  reci  has,  however,  its  admirers,  and  most  parties  end 
with  this  lively  romping  danco. 

Balls  given  on  public  days,  such  as  tho  Queen's  birtliday,  and 
by  societies,  such  as  tlio  Freemasons',  tho  Odd  Fellows',  and  tho 
Firemen's,  are  composed  of  very  mixed  company,  and  tho  higliest 
and  lowest  are  seen  in  the  s'\mo  room.  They  generally  contrive 
to  keep  to  their  own  set — dancing  alternately — rarely  occupying 
tho  floor  together.  It  is  surprising,  tlio  goodwill  and  harmony 
that  presides  in  these  mixed  assemblies.  As  long  as  they  are 
treated  witli  civility,  the  lower  classes  show  no  lack  of  courtesy 
to  tho  higlier.  To  bo  a  spectator  at  one  of  these  public  balls  is 
very  amusing.  The  country  girls  carry  thomsolves  with  such  an 
easy  freedom,  that  it  is  quite  entertaining  to  look  at  and  listen 


I  •■ 


78 


I.IFK    IN    TUB    C'LKARINGH. 


to  tlioin.  At  a  frcciiuwons'  bull,  sotno  years  ago,  a  very  amusing 
tiling  took  place.  A  young  luindsonio  wouum,  etill  in  hor  girl- 
liooil,  luul  brought  her  baby,  which  aho  carried  with  her  into 
the  ball-room.  On  being  asked  to  dance,  she  was  rather  puzzled 
what  to  do  with  the  child ;  but,  Kccing  a  young  lawyer,  one  of  the 
Hltc  of  the  town,  standing  with  foldc'(^  arms  looking  on,  who  ran 
across  the  room,  and,  putting  the  baby  into  his  arms,  exclaimed — 
''You  are  not  dancing,  sir;  pray  hold  my  baby  for  me,  till  the 
next  (luadrillo  is  over."  Away  she  skipped  back  to  her  partner, 
and  left  the  gentleman  overwhelmed  with  conl'usion,  while  the 
room  shook  with  peals  of  laughter.  Making  the  best  of  it,  ho 
danced  the  baby  to  the  music,  and  kept  it  iu  high  good  humour 
till  its  mother  returned. 

''  I  guess,"  she  said,  ''  that  you  are  a  married  num  ? " 
"Yes,"  said  ho,  returning  the  child,  "and  a  mason." 
""Well,  I  thought  as  much  any  how,  by  the  way  you  acted 
with  the  baby." 

"  My  conduct  was  not  quite  free  from  selflshness — I  expect  a 
reward." 
"As  how?" 

"That  you  will  give  the  baby  to  your  husband,  and  danco  the 
next  set  with  me." 

"  With  all  my  heart.    IjOt  ns  go  a-head." 
If  legs  did  not  do  their  duty,  it  was  no  fault  of  tlieir  pretty 
owner,  for  she  danced  with  all  lier  strength,  greatly  to  tho 
amusement  of  her  aristocratic  partner. 

When  we  first  came  to  Belleville,  evening  parties  commenced 
at  tho  primitive  and  rational  hour  of  six  o'clock,  but  now  invi- 
tations are  issued  for  eight;  the  cor.  )any,  however,  seldom 
assemble  before  nine,  and  those  who  Avisii  to  bo  very  fashionable 
don't  make  their  appearance  before  ten.  This  is  rather  absurd 
in  a  country,  but  Folly  as  well  as  AVisdom,  is  justified  of  her 
children.  Evening  parties  always  include  dancing  and  music, 
while  cards  are  i)rovided  for  those  gentlemen  who  prefer  whist 
to  the  society  of  the  ladie«  Tho  evening  generally  closes  with 
a  splendid  supper,  in  which  there  is  no  lack  of  the  good  things 
which  the  season  affords.  Tho  ladies  are  always  served  first,  tho 
gentlemen  waiting  upon  them  at  supper;  and  they  never  eit 


down  to  I 
ladies  hal 
not  be  v(| 
versal  onl 
tion  to  tli 
characterl 
Tho  op 
und  only 
Canada, 
aiiuiteur 
Hiul  gentl 
uudience. 
]irivate  Ik 
(nirden. 
them  she* 
])ourtray. 
cDurso,  th 
and  nature 
In  the  s 
dancing, 
tributing 
stock.    Tl 
uliady  reti 
where  th( 
bles  to  ea 
fowls,  me 
cakes,  wl 
bottom  ol 
These 
about  an 
fisb.    Th 
and  tho 
possess  g 
sward, 
domain, 
a  reuuioi 
tho  man 
Inar 


LIFK    IN    TflK    CLEARINGS. 


9e 


' 


down  to  tlio  tftblo,  "wlicii  the  cornpnny  \h  lftr,.,'o,  until  nftcr  tho 
ladies  have  rcturnod  ti>  tho  dmwing-rooiii.  This  cuHtom  would 
not  bo  very  Ht,'rocahlc  to  sumo  Enj,dish  opicuros,  l)ut  it  is  an  nui- 
VLTBal  Olio  with  Canadian  t;ontletiion,  wlioso  itolitencRnand  atton- 
tiuii  to  tiio  othor  sex  in  ono  of  tho  inuut  i>lca8iiig  traita  in  thoir 
(•haracter. 

Tlio  o|(i)ort,unitio9  of  visiting  tlio  theatre  occur  very  Boldoni, 
iiud  only  can  ho  enjoyed  by  those  wlio  reside  in  tho  citien  of 
Canada.  Tho  young  men  of  tho  place  Boiuetimofl  get  up  an 
iunatcur  performance,  in  which  they  act  tlie  part  of  both  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  greatly  to  tho  delight  and  amusement  of  thoir 
audieuco.  I  nmst  say  that  I  have  enjoyed  a  play  in  ono  of  theso 
I'rivuto  houses  more  than  ever  I  did  at  Drury  Lano  or  Oovent 
(iarden.  The  lads  act  with  their  wholo  hearts,  and  I  havo  soon 
them  slied  real  tears  over  the  sorrows  they  were  called  upon  to 
l»uurtray.  They  did  not  feign— they  really  felt  tho  part.  Of 
course,  there  was  little  artistic  skill,  but  a  good  deal  of  truth 
and  nature. 

In  tho  summer,  riding  and  boating  parties  take  the  placo  of 
dancing.  Theso  are  always  regular  pic-nicH,  each  j)arty  con- 
tributing thoir  share  of  eatables  and  drinkables  to  tho  general 
stock.  They  commonly  select  some  pretty  islaud  in  tiio  bay,  or 
shady  retired  spot  on^ho  main  land,  for  the  general  rendezvous, 
where  they  light  a  lire,  boil  their  kettles,  and  cook  their  vegeta- 
bles to  eat  with  their  cold  prog,  which  usually  consists  of  hams, 
fowls,  meat  pies,  cold  joints  of  meat,  and  abundance  of  tarts  and 
cakes,  while  the  luxury  of  ice  is  convoyed  in  a  blanket  at  tho 
bottom  of  ono  of  the  boats. 

These  Avater  parties  aro  very  delightful.  The  ladies  'troll 
about  and  gather  wild  fruit  and  flowers,  while  tho  gentl'Miieu 
tish.  Tho  weather  at  that  season  of  tho  year  is  suro  to  bo  fine, 
and  tho  water  scenery  beautiful  in  tho  extreme.  Those  who 
possess  good  vc  ea  sing.,  and  tho  young  folks  dance  on  th'-  green- 
sward. A  day  .  pent  thus  happily  with  nature  in  her  green 
domain,  is  one  of  jinre  and  innocent  enjoyment.  There  is  always 
a  reunion,  in  tho  evening,  of  tho  party,  at  tho  house  of  one  of 
tho  married  ladies  who  were  present  at  the  pic-nic. 

In  a  riding  party,  some  placo  is  selected  in  the  country,  and 


•r 


M 


80 


I.IFK    IN    THK    CLKAKING3. 


tliopo  wlio  aro  iiivitvl  meet  at.  ft  iixed  liour  on  tlio  U|)p(»iiiteil 
ground.  TIio  Oakliill  pond,  near  tho  villiiRO  of  liawdon,  and 
about  sixteen  miles  from  Bollovillo,  ia  a  very  favourite  spot,  and 
is  one  of  singular  beauty.  This  Oakhill  pond  is  a  small,  clear, 
and  very  deep  lake,  on  tho  summit  of  a  liigli  hill.  It  is  about 
two  miles  in  circumference,  and  bcinj,^  almost  circular,  must 
/■early  bo  as  broad  as  it  is  \oi\^.  The  waters  aro  intensely  blue, 
tho  back-ground  is  fdlcd  up  with  groves  of  dark  pine,  while  the 
woods  in  front  are  composed  of  tho  dwarf  oaks  and  firs,  which 
are  generally  found  on  these  table  lands,  intersijcrscd  with  low 
bashes — tho  sandy  Suil  abounding  with  every  Canadian  variety 
of  wild  fruits  aiid  flowers. 

There  is  an  excellent  ])lank  road  all  tlie  way  from  IkOlevilie  to 
Rawdon.  The  Oakhills  Ho  a  little  to  the  loft,  and  you  api)roach 
them  by  a  very  steep  ascent,  from  tho  summit  of  which  you 
obtain  as  fine  a  i)rospect  as  I  have  seen  in  this  i)art  of  Canada. 
A  vast  country  lies  stretched  beneath  your  feet,  and  you  look 
down  upon  an  immense  forest,  whoso  tree-toj)?,  moved  by  tho 
wind,  cause  it  to  undulate  like  a  green  ocean.  From  this  spot, 
you  may  trace  tho  four  windings  of  the  bay,  to  its  junction  with 
tho  bine  waters  of  tho  Ontario.  Tho  last  time  I  ga/od  from  tho 
top  of  this  hill  a  thunder-storm  was  frowning  over  tho  woods, 
and  '.ho  dense  black  clouds  gave  an  awful  gra^^deur  to  the  noblo 
l>ict>.re. 

Tho  village  of  Kawdon  lies  on  the  other  side  of  this  table  land, 
quite  in  a  valley,  A  bright,  brisk  littlo  stream  runs  through  it, 
and  aims  several  large  mills.  It  is  a  very  ])retty  rural  place, 
and  13  fast  rising  towards  the  dignity  of  a  town.  When  we  first 
carae  4,0  licUeville,  the  spot  on  which  Rr  \vdon  now  stands  be- 
longed principally,  if  not  altogether,  to  an  enterprising  Orkney 
man,  Edward  Fidlar,  Esq.,  to  whose  energy  and  industry  it 
mainly  owes  its  eyistenco.  ^[r,  Fidlar  might  truly  be  termed  tho 
father  of  the  village,  A  witty  friend  suggested,  that  instead  of 
Rawdon,  it  ought  more  properly  to  bo  called  "Fidlar's  Green,"' 

There  is  a  clean  littlo  country  inn  just  at  tho  foot  of  the  long 
hill  leading  to  tho  Oakhill  pond,  kept  by  a  respectable  widow- 
woman  of  tho  name  of  Fairman,  If  the  pic-nio  party  does  not 
wish  to  bo  troubled  with  carrying  baskets  of  pr-^\ision8  so  far. 


they  send  | 
dinner  for| 
sible  cour 
head. 

A  dinnel 
substanliall 
town.  Till 
not  ofter  a| 
of  the  dair 

They  lik[_ 
that  they 
ing  such  m 
dcwn  to  a 
and  myself 
would  hav 
ham,  and  j 
pies,  puddi 
to  you  witl 
round  your 
tor  dainty  i 
liouso  consi 
sometimes 
it  is  impost 
Two  lad: 
those  too  h 
They  had  ( 
headache, 
of  tho  hoii 
her  guests 
good  chee 
her  seat,  a 
"I  shouk 
choose  to 
The  po( 
failed  tho 
irritated  1 
hlo  "  for  t 
ble  weakj 


r. 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKARING3. 


81 


thoy  send  word  to  Mrs.  Fairnian  tlie  day  previous,  to  proparo 
dinner  for  so  many  guests.  This  she  always  does  in  tlie  best  pos- 
sible country  stylo,  at  the  moderate  charge  of  lialf-a-doUar  per 
head. 

A  dinner  in  the  country  in  Canada,  taken  at  the  house  of  some 
substantial  yeoman,  is  a  very  dilfercnt  alFair  from  a  dinner  m  the 
town.  The  table  literally  groans  with  good  cheer;  and  you  can- 
not oiler  a  greater  affront  to  you  hostess,  than  to  eat  sparingly 
of  the  dainties  set  before  you. 

They  like  to  have  several  days'  warning  of  your'inteiided  visit, 
tiiat  they  may  go  "  to  trov/ih-,^'  as  they  most  truly  term  mak- 
ing such  magnificent  preparations  for  a  few  guests.  I  have  sat 
dcwn  to  a  table  of  this  kind  in  the  coimtry,  with  only  Mr.  M. 
and  myself  aa  guests,  and  we  have  been  served  with  a  dinner  that 
woidd  have  amj)ly  fed  twenty  i)eople.  Fowls  of  several  sorts, 
ham,  and  joints  of  roast  and  boiled  meat,  besides  quantities  of 
l»ies,  puddings,  custiirds,  and  cakes.  Cheese  is  invariably  olfercd 
to  you  with  apple  pie;  and  several  little  glass  dishes  are  ranged 
round  your  plate,  for  preserves,  honey,  and  ajjplo  sauce,  which  lat- 
ter dainty  is  never  wanting  in  a  country  feast.  The  mistress  of  the 
liouso  constantly  presses  you  to  partake  of  all  these  things,  and 
sometimes  the  accumulation  of  rich  food  on  one  plate,  which 
it  is  impossible  for  you  to  consume,  is  everything  but  agreeable. 

Two  ladies,  friends  of  mine,  went  to  spend  the  day  at  one  of 
those  too  hospitable  entertainers.  The  weather  was  intensely  hot. 
They  had  driven  a  long  way  in  the  sun,  and  both  ladies  had  a 
headache,  aud  verj  little  appetite  in  conse»iuenco.  The  mistress 
vt'  the  house  went  "  to  trouble,^^  and  prepared  a  great  feast  for 
her  guests  ;  but,  finding  that  they  partook  very  8j)aringly  of  her 
good  cheer,  her  pride  was  greatly  hurt,  and  rising  suddenly  from 
her  seat,  and  turning  to  them  with  a  stern  brow,  she  exclaimed, — 
"I  should  like  to  know  what  ails  my  victuals,  that  you  don't 
choose  to  eat." 

The  poor  ladies  explained  the  reosc'\  of  their  appetites  having 
failed  them;  bnt  they  found  it  a  difiicult  matter  to  .soothe  their 
irritated  hostess,  who  declared  that  she  would  never  go  "  to  trou- 
hlo  "  for  thout  again.  It  is  of  no  use  of  arguing  against  this  amia- 
ble weakness,  for  as  eating  to  uneducated  people  ia  one  of  greatest 

4* 


82 


LIFE   IN   TUB    JLEARINGS. 


enjoyments  of  life,  tliey  cannot  iamgine  how  they  could  make 
you  more  corafortablo,  by  offering  you  less  food,  and  of  a  more 
Biinple  kind. 

Large  farmers  in  an  old  cleared  country  live  remarkably  well, 
and  enjoy  within  themselves  all  the  substantial  comforts  of  life. 
Many  of  them  keep  carriages,  and  drive  splendid  horses.  The 
contrast  between  the  pork  and  potato  diet  (and  sometimes  of 
potatoes  alone  without  the  pork),  in  the  backwoods,  is  really 
striking.  Before  a  gentleman  from  the  old  country  concludes  to 
settle  in  the  bush,  let  him  first  visit  these  comfortable  abodes  of 
peace  and  plenty. 

Tiio  lion.  R.  13 ,  when  canvassing  the  county,  paid  a  round 

of  visits  to  his  principal  political  supporters,  and  they  literally 
almost  killed  him  with  kindness.  Every  house  provided  a  feast 
in  honour  of  their  distinguished  guest,  and  he  was  obliged  to  eat 
at  all. 

Coming  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  at  our  house,  the  first  words 

he  uttered  were, — "If  you  have  any  regard  for  me  Mrs.  M , 

pray  don't  ask  me  to  eat.    I  am  sick  of  the  sight  of  food." 

I  can  well  imagine  the  amount  of  "  trouhle  "  each  good  wife 
had  taken  upon  herself  on  this  great  occasion. 

One  of  the  most  popular  public  exhibitions  is  the  circus,  a  sort 
of  travelling  Astley's  theatre,  which  belongs  to  a  company  in 
New  York.  This  show  visits  all  the  largo  towns  once  during  the 
summer  season.  The  performance  consists  of  feats  of  horseman- 
ship, gymnastics,  dancing  on  the  tight  and  slack  rope,  and  won- 
derful feats  of  agility  and  strength  ;  and  to  those  who  have  taste 
and  nerve  enough  to  admire  such  sights,  it  possesses  great  at- 
tractions. The  company  is  a  large  one,  often  exceeding  forty 
persons ;  it  is  provided  with  good  performers,  and  an  excellent 
brass  band.  The  arrival  of  the  circus  is  commonly  announced 
several  weeks  before  it  makes  its  actual  entree^  in  the  public 
papers ;  and  large  handbills  are  posted  up  in  the  taverns,  con- 
taining coarse  woodcuts  of  the  most  exciting  scenes  in  the  per- 
formance. These  ugly  pictures  draw  around  them  crowds  of  little 
boys,  who  know  the  whole  of  the  programme  by  heart,  long  before 
the  caravans  containing  the  tents  and  scenery  arrive.  Hundreds 
of  these  little  chaps  are  up  before  day-break  on  the  oxpootod 


morning  1 
(if  nine  iJ 
llowo\i 
prices,  tl 
are  plentl 
selves  ani 
The  Inl 
town  is  a| 
A  large 
church  ai 
tlionsand 
tlie  pit. 
a  few  ice 
spectators 
composed 
candles,  t 
odor. 

The  she 
well  Avort 
re[;etition. 
can  twice 
the  same 
formers. 

The  last 

more  amu 

eyes  and 

offered  his 

graceful  b 

sion,  he  c 

eye,  and  1 

mained  oi 

heart,—" 

of  his  bu] 

The  sir 

seven  in  \ 

children, 

people  at 

more  sek 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


83 


morning  of  the  show,  and  walk  out  to  Shannon villo,  a  distance 
(tf  nine  miles,  to  meet  it. 

However  the  farmers  may  giumblo  over  bad  times  and  low 
l)riccs,  the  circus  never  lacks  its  quantum  of  visitors;  and  there 
are  plenty  of  half-dollars  to  bo  had  to  pay  for  tickets  for  them- 
selves and  their  families. 

The  Indians  fro  particularly  fond  of  this  exhibition,  and  the 
town  is  always  full  of  them  the  day  the  circus  comes  in. 

A  largo  tent  is  pitched  on  the  open  si)ace  between  the  Scotch 
church  and  the  old  hospital,  big  enough  to  contain  at  least  a 
thousand  people,  besides  a  wide  area  for  the  performance  and 
the  pit.  An  amphitheatre  of  seats  rises  tier  above  tier,  to  withiu 
a  few  feet  of  the  eves  of  the  tent,  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
spectators ;  and  the  wliole  space  is  lighted  by  a  largo  chandelier, 
composed  of  tin  holders,  filled  with  very  bad,  greasy,  tallow 
candles,  that  in  the  close  crowded  place  emit  a  very  disagreeable 
t»dor. 

The  show  of  horses  and  the  feats  of  horsemanship  are  always 
well  wortli  seeing,  but  the  rest  grows  very  tiresome  on  frequent 
re[:etition.  Persons  must  be  very  fond  of  this  sort  of  thing  who 
can  twice  visit  the  circus,  as  year  after  year  the  clown  repeats 
the  same  stale  jests,  and  shows  up  the  same  stylo  of  per- 
formers. 

The  last  time  I  went,  in  order  to  please  my  youngest  son,  I  was 
more  amused  by  the  antics  of  a  man  who  carried  about  bull's- 
eyes  and  lemonade,  than  by  any  of  the  actors.  Whenever  lio 
otVered  liis  tray  of  sweets  to  the  ladies,  it  wjts  with,  an  aiiectedly 
graceful  bend ;  and  throwing  into  his  voice  the  utmost  persua- 
sion, he  contrived  to  glance  down  on  liie  bull's-eyes  with  half  an 
eye,  and  to  gaze  up  at  the  ladies  lio  addressed  witli  all  that  re- 
mained of  the  powers  of  vision,  exclaiming,  with  his  hand  on  his 
lieart, — "  How  sweet  they  a-r-e!"  combining  a  recommendation 
of  his  bull's-eyes  with  a  comi)liment  to  the  fair  sex. 

The  show  opens  at  two  o'clock,  p.m.,  and  again  at  half-past 
seven  in  the  evening.  The  people  from  a  distance,  and  the  young 
children,  visit  the  exciting  scene  during  the  day;  the  town's- 
peoplo  at  night,  as  it  is  less  crowded,  cooler,  aud  the  company 
more  select.    Persons  of  all  ranks  are  there ;  and  the  variety  of 


'  ■'» 


,f 


'  ■'imtmfm.si»gamwi-A'^'- ■ 


84 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CI.EAKINGfi. 


faces  and  charnotors  tlmt  iiHtiirc  exliibiis  gratis,  nro  far  inoro 
amusing  to  watch  tliiiii  tlio  feats  of  the  Athletes. 

Theu  tlicro  is  Jianiliain's  travelling  inenagorie  of  wild  animals, 
and  of  tamo  darkio  melodists,  who  occnpy  a  tent  by  themselves, 
and  a  w?ute  nigger  whom  the  boys  look  upon  with  the  same  won- 
der they  would  do  at  a  white  rat  or  mouse.  Everybody  goes 
to  see  the  wild  beasts,  and  to  i)oke  fuu  at  the  elephants,  Uno 
man  who,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  backwoods,  had  r.ever 
seen  an  elephant  before, 'nor  oven  a  picture  of  one,  ran  half- 
frightened  homo  to  his  master,  exclaiming  as  he  bolted  into  tlio 
room,  "Oh,  sir!  eir!  you  must  let  the  childer  go  to  tho  muiijc- 
ry.  Shuro  there's  six  huge  critters  to  bo  seen,  with  no  eyes,  and 
a  tail  before  and  behind." 

The  celebrated  CJeneral  Tom  Thumb  paid  tho  town  a  visit  last 
Bummor.  Ills  presence  was  hailed  with  enlhusiaetic  delight,  and 
people  crowded  from  tho  most  remote  settlements  to  gazo  upon 
the  tiny  man.  Ono  jmor  Irishwonum  insisted  "  that  ho  was  not 
a  human  crathur,  but  a  fairy  clmngernig,  and  that  ho  would  van- 
ish away  some  day,  and  never  bo  heard  of  again."  Sigiior  Blitz, 
tho  great  conjuror,  occasit)nally  pays  us  a  visit,  but  his  visits  aro 
like  angel  visits,  few  and  far  between.  His  performance  never 
fails  in  lilllng  tho  largo  room  in  tho  court-houso  for  several  suc- 
cessive nights,  and  his  own  purse.  Then  wo  have  lecturers  from 
the  United  States  on  all  subjects,  who  commonly  content  them- 
selves with  hiring  the  room  belonging  to  tho  Mechanics'  Institute, 
where  they  hold  forth,  for  tho  moderate  sum  of  a  York  shilling 
a  head,  on  mesmerism,  phrenology,  biology,  i)honography,  spir- 
itual communications,  *fec. 

These  wandering  lectures  aro  often  very  wed  attended,  and 
their  performance  is  highly  entertaining.  Imagine  a  tall,  thin, 
bearded  American,  exhibiting  himself  at  a  small  wooden  desk 
between  two  dingy  tallow  candles,  and  holding  forth  in  tho 
genuine  nasal  twang  on  those  half-sujjernatural  sciences  on  which 
so  much  is  advanced,  and  of  which  so  little  is  at  present  under- 
stood. Our  lecturer,  however,  expresses  no  doubts  upon  tho 
subject  of  which  ho  treats.  IIo  proves  on  tho  persons  of  Iiis 
audience  the  truth  of  ])hreuology,  biology,  and  mesmerism,  and 
t'ic  ii;  Mvidnals  lio  pitches  upon  to  illustrate  his  facts  perform 


tlicir  par 
maze  of 

I  romol 
hear   t.u 
I> 

Mechanic 
number  d 
ho  effectc 
who  wisH 
way  of 
never  giv 
dollars  fo 
chart;  ai 
great  mai 
trived  to 
lectures  a 
Wo  hail 
(louloiireti 
burly  mai 
touching  ; 
make  him 
t()  Califori 
to  witness 
and  went 
profess  or 
with  him, 
of  tho  spc 
he  rose  to 
1  shall  n< 
tho  bench 
most  into 
human  o; 
words  CO 
That  lool 
before  uv 
that  I  oir 
a  look  all 
ner,  keei 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUIN08. 


85 


their  parts  remarkably  well,  and  often  leave  the  spectators  in  a 
maze  of  doubt,  nstoni.slim<int  and  adiiiirati(fli. 

I  remember,  about  three  years  ago,  going  with  my  liusband  to 
lio.'ir   t.ie   lectured  of  a  person  who   called   himself  i*rofessor 

it .     lie  had  been  lecturing  for  some  nights  riiuning  at  the 

Mechanics'  Institute,  for  nothing,  and  had  drawn  together  a  great 
number  of  persons  to  hear  him,  and  witness  the  strange  things 
ho  effected  by  mesmerism  on  the  persons  of  such  of  the  audience 
who  wished  to  tort  his  skill.  This  would  have  been  but  a  poor 
way  of  getting  his  living.  But  these  American  adventurers 
never  give  their  time  and  labour  for  nothing.  lie  obtained  two 
dollars  for  examining  a  head  phrenologically,  and  drawing  out  a 
chart;  and  as  his  lectures  t-eldom  closed  without  securing  him  a 
great  many  heads  for  inspection,  our  disinterested  professor  con- 
trived to  pocket  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  to  find  his  cheap 
lectures  an  uncommonly  profitable  speculation. 

Wo  had  lieard  a  great  deal  of  his  curing  a  blacksmith  of  tie- 
(Jonlourciix  by  mesmerising  him.  The  blacksmith,  though  a  big, 
burly  man,  Imd  turned  out  an  admirable  clairvoyant,  and  by 
touching  particular  bumps  in  his  cranium,  tho  professor  could 
make  him  sirig,  dance,  .ind  fight  all  in  a  breath,  or  transport  him 
to  California,  and  set  him  to  picking  gold.  I  was  very  curious 
to  witness  this  man's  conduct  under  his  alleged  mesmeric  state, 
jind  went  accordingly.  After  a  long  lecture,  during  which  l!io 
profess  orput  into  a  deep  sleep  a  Kentuckian  giant,  who  travelled 
with  him,  tho  blacksmith  was  called  upon  to  satisfy  the  curiosity 
of  tho  spectators.  I  happened  to  sit  near  this  individual,  and  la 
ho  rose  to  comply  Avith  tho  vociferous  demands  of  tho  audien  «, 
I  shall  never  forget  tho  sidelong  knowing  glanco  ho  cast  ac  >{j 
tho  bench  to  a  friend  of  his  own ;  it  was,  without  exceplion,  lo 
most  intelligent  telegraphic  despatch  that  it  was  pt)Hsiblo  foi-  ..no 
human  cyo  to  convoy  to  otlier,  and  said  more  plairly  lau 
words  could — "You  shall  see  how  I  can  humbug  theru    ill." 

* 

That  look  opened  my  eyes  completely  to  the  farce  that  w;  acting 
before  mo,  and  entering  into  tho  s[)irit  of  tho  scene,  I  must  own 
that  I  enjoyed  it  amazingly.  Tho  blacksmith  was  mesmerised  by 
a  looh  alone,  and  for  half  an  hour  went  on  in  a  most  funny  man- 
ner, keeping  tho  spectators  with  their  oyos  open,  and  in  couvul- 


'h 


»M»*i«M<«».rfWM««j~!*w**iii«.'«aft««a« 


86 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINOS. 


sions  of  laughter.  After  a  while,  the  professor  left  him  to  enjoy 
his  mosiueric  nap,  and  chose  another  subject,  in  the  person  of  a 
man  wlio  liad  locturod  a  few  nights  before  on  the  science  of 
mnemonics,  and  had  been  disappointed  in  a  very  scanty  attend- 
unco. 

After  a  decent  time  had  elapsed,  the  new  subject  yielded  very 
easily  to  the  professor's  magic  passes,  and  fell  into  a  profound 
sleep.  The  mesmoriscr  then  le<l  him,  with  his  eyes  shut,  to  the 
front  of  the  stage,  and  pointed  out  to  the  spectators  tbo  phrono- 
Idgical  development  of  his  head  ;  he  then  touched  the  buini)  of 
Kinguago,  and  set  the  soenung  automaton  talking.  But  hero  the 
professor  was  cauglit  in  his  own  trap.  After  once  sotting  him 
going,  lie  of  the  mnemonics  refused  to  hold  his  tongue  until  ho 
had  given,  to  liis  weary  listeners,  the  whole  lecture  ho  had  de- 
livered a  few  nights  before.  Ue  pranced  to  and  fro  on  the  plat- 
form, declaiming  in  the  most  i)«dantlc  voice,  and  kept  us  for  one 
blessed  hour  before  ho  would  suffer  the  professor  to  deprive  him 
of  the  unexpected  opportunity  tlms  afforded  him  of  being  heard. 
It  was  a  droll  scene :  tho  sly  blacksmith  in  a  profound  fox's 
sleej) — tho  declaimcr  pretending  to  be  asleep,  and  wide  awake  all 
the  time — and  the  thin,  long-faced  American,  too  wise  to  betray 
hid  colleagues,  but  evidently  annoyed  beyond  measure  at  tho 
trick  they  had  played  him. 

I  once  went  to  hear  a  lecture  at  tho  Mechanics'  Institute, 
delivered  by  a  very  eccentric  person,  who  styled  himself  tho 
Hon.  James  Spencer  Lidstono — the  Great  Orator  of  the  West. 
My  astonishment  may  bo  guessed  better  than  described,  when  he 
gave  out  for  the  subject  of  his  lecture — "  Great  women,  from 

Evo  down  to  Mrs.  M ."    Not  wishing  to  make  myself  a 

laughing-stock  to  a  pretty  numerous  audience,  I  left  the  room. 
Going  up  the  street  next  morning,'a  venerable  white-liaired  old 
man  ran  after  me,  and  pulling  mo  by  tho  shawl,  said,  "  Mrs. 

M ,  why  did  you  leave  us  last  night?     lie  did  you  justice — 

indeed  he  did.  You  should  hav»^  staid  and  heard  all  the  lino 
things  ho  said  of  you." 

Besides  scientific  lecturers,  Canada  is  visited  by  singers  and 
musicians  of  every  country,  and  of  every  ago  and  sex — from  tho 
celebrated  Jenny  Lind,  ond  the  once  celebrated  Braham,  down 


to  ])retenJ 
York  shilll 
with  consii 
one  of  str| 
portunity 
in  illustral 
travelling 
young  friej 
jirofession. 
tiio  power! 
])lirity  and 
verity  of  a 
for  himself 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


SI 


to  pretenders  who  can  noitlier  sing  nor  i)lay,  worth  pnyiiif?  a 
York  Khilling  to  hear.  Some  of  these  wandering  niusiciuns  phiy 
witli  considerable  bkill,  and  are  persons  of  talent.  Their  life  is 
one  of  strange  vicissitudes  and  adventure,  and  they  have  an  op- 
portunity of  making  the  acquaintance  of  many  odd  characters. 
In  illustration  of  this,  I  will  give  you  a  few  of  the  trials  of  a 
travelling  musician,  which  1  took  down  from  the  dictation  of  a 
young  friend,  since  dead,  who  earned  a  precarious  living  by  his 
])rofesKion.  Ho  had  the  faculty  of  telling  his  adventures  without 
the  power  of  committing  them  to  paper;  and,  frtmi  the  sim- 
jdiiity  and  truthfulness  of  his  character,  I  have  no  doubt  of  the 
verity  of  all  the  amusing  anecdotes  he  told.  But  he  shall  speak 
for  himself  in  the  next  chapter. 

A  MAY-DAY  CAROL. 


"  Thnre'o  not  a  little  bird  that  wings 

Its  airy  ilight  on  high, 
In  forest  bowers  that  awoetly  sings 

So  blithe  in  spring  an  I. 
I  love  the  fields,  tlie  budding  flowers, 

The  treoH  and  r'^ahing  stroaras ; 
I  bathe  my  Urow  in  balmy  showers, 

And  basic  m  sunny  beams. 


'*  The  wanton  wind  tliat  fans  my  cheek. 

In  fancy  has  a  voice. 
In  tjirillinp  tones  that  gently  speak— 

RfjoJoe  with  me,  rejoico! 
Th'-  bursting  of  ttie  ocean-floods, 

The  silver  tinkling  rillB, 
The  whispering  of  the  waving  wood*, 

My  inmoat  boiioin  fiUa. 

**  The  moss  for  mo  a  carpet  weaves 
Of  patterns  rich  and  rare  ; 
Auii  meekly  through  her  bholtcring  leaves 
The  violet  nestles  there. 


88 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUINQS. 


>■•.!' 


Tho  violot ! — oh,  what  talcs  nf  lovo, 
Of  youtli's  Bwent  spring  iirc  thitiH  ! 

And  lovers  wtill  in  RcM  and  grove, 
Of  thee  will  chapletd  twine. 

"  Mine  are  tlie  treasures  Naturo  strewa 

With  lavish  hand  around  ; 
My  precious  gems  are  sparkling  dcwH, 

My  wealth  tho  verdant  groumi. 
Mine  are  the  songs  that  freely  gush 

From  hf'dge,  and  bush,  an  I  tree; 
Tho  soaring  lark  and  spccklei'  thrush 

Discourse  rich  melody. 

"A  cloud  cornea  floating  o'er  the  sun, 

The  woods'  green  glories  fade ; 
But  hark  !  tho  blackbird  has  begun 

His  wild  lay  in  the  shade. 
He  hails  with  joy  the  threaten'd  shower, 

And  plumes  his  glossy  wing ; 
While  pattering  on  his  leafy  bower, 

I  hear  the  big  drops  ring. 

**  Slowly  at  first,  but  quicker  now, 

The  rushing  rain  descends; 
And  to  each  spray  and  leafy  bough 

A  crown  of  diamonds  lends. 
Oh,  what  a  splendid  sight  appears ! 

The  sun  bursts  forth  again  ; 
And,  smiling  through  sweot  nature's  tears, 

Lights  up  tho  hill  and  plain. 

*'  And  tears  are  trembling  in  my  eyes, 

Tears  of  intense  delight; 
Whilst  gazing  upward  to  the  skies. 

My  heart  o'erflows  my  sight. 
Great  God  of  nature  !  may  thy  grace 

Pervade  my  inmost  soul ; 
And  in  her  beauties  may  I  trace 

Tl;e  love  that  forrn'd  tho  whole !" 


I. IKK    IN     rHK    CLKAIlINdH. 


8!) 


CIIAPTEn  V. 


TRIALS    OF    A    TRAVELLING    MUSICIAN. 
'*  The  man  that  hath  not  muilc  in  hiH  soul." 

I  WILL  »ny  no  inoro.  Tho  quotation,  tlioi;gh  but  too  true,  is 
too  well  known  ;  but  it  will  eerve  as  tho  best  illustriitioii  I  can 
f,'ive  to  tlic  various  annoyances  which  besot  tho  patii  of  liini 
who  is  inuHically  incliufnl,  and  whoso  soul  is  in  unison  with 
swcot  souiuls.  This  was  my  case.  I  loved  music  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  and  in  order  to  f:;ivo  myself  wholly  up  to  my 
l)assion,  and  claim  a  sort  of  moral  right  to  enjoy  it,  I  made  it  a 
profession. 

Fow  i)Coplo  have  a  bettor  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
Avlth  tlio  world  than  the  travelling  musician;  yot  such  is  tho 
absorbing  nature  of  his  calling,  that  few  make  use  of  it  less.  I  lis 
nature  is  oi)en,  easy,  and  unsuspecting;  jdeascd  with  his  pro- 
fession, ho  hojics  always  to  convey  tho  same  pleasure  to  his 
hearers;  and  tliough  doubts  will  sometimes  cross  his  mind,  and 
the  fear  of  ridicule  make  him  awkward  and  nervous,  yet,  upon 
tho  whole,  ho  is  generally  sure  of  making  a  favourable  impres- 
sion on  the  simple  hearted  aiul  generous  among  his  hearers. 

Tho  musician  moves  among  his  fellow-men  as  a  sort  of  privi- 
leged person ;  for  who  ever  suspects  him  of  being  a  r(»giic?  His 
first  attempt  to  deoeivo  would  defeat  its  own  objei:t,  and  prove 
Inm  to  be  a  mere  pretender.  His  hand  and  voice  must  answer 
for  his  skill,  and  form  the  only  true  test  of  his  abilities.  If 
tuneless  and  bad,  tho  public  will  not  fail  to  condemn  him. 

Tho  adventures  of  tho  troubadours  of  old,  if  they  wero  more 
full  of  sentiment  and  romance  than  the  overy-day  occurrences 
that  beset  tho  path  of  tho  modern  minstrel,  were  n(tt  more 
replete  with  odd  chances  and  ludicrous  incidents.  Take  tho 
following  for  examjde  of  tho  many  droll  things  which  have 
happened  to  mo  during  my  travels. 

In  tho  summer  of  1840  I  was  making  a  professional  tonr 


ii 


90 


MFR    II*   TIIK    ri-EARTKOfl. 


UiroiiKli  the  ITnitod  Stntos,  nnd  luid  udvortisod  a  concert  for  Ibo 

oiiMiiin><  evening  at   tho  small  town  of ,  and  was  bu<iy 

'imkinj?  tlie  necessary  nrnm^enienlM,  wlu.i  I  was  9uddi>nly 
uocosted,  as  I  left  tiio  liotel,  l>y  a  tall,  thin,  laik-ji-diiisical  l(»ok- 
in^' nmn,  of  a  most  nnnaisieal  and  nnpropossessing  appearance: 
"JIdw — do — ye — do?  I'm  highly  tickled  to  see  yon.  I  s'poso 
yon  are  going  to  give  an  extra  sing  here — ain't  yon  ?" 

"  V'es;  I  intend  giving  a  concert  hero  thin  evening." 

"Hem!  llow  mnch  dew  you  ax  to  como  in?  That  is — I 
want  to  nay — Avhat  are  yoti  goin'  to  eheargo  a  ticket?" 

"  Half  a  dollar — tho  nsnul  price." 

''How?"  inclining  his  ear  towards  me,  as  if  ho  donhted  tho 
sonndncHS  of  tho  organ. 

"  Half  a  dollar,"  repeated  I,  carelessly. 

"  'Tis  tow  much.  You  had  better  eheargo  twenty-llvo  cents. 
If  you  dew,  you'll  have  a  pretty  good  house.  K  you  mako  it 
twelve  and  a  half  cents,  yt)u'll  havo  a  emnghcr.  If,  mister, 
you'll  lower  that  again  to  six  and  a  quarter  cont*i,  you'll  havo  to 
lake  a  tield, — there  ain't  a  house  would  hold  'em."  After  a 
pause,  scratching  his  head,  and  shufHing  with  his  feet,  "  I  s'pose 
you  ginnerally  give  tho  profession  tickets?" 

"  Somotimos." 

"  I'm  a  It'ctle  m  your  line  myself,  \lthough  I'm  a  Bhocmakor 
by  trade,  I  leads  tho  first  Presby'vrrian  choir  upon  tho  hill.  I 
should  like  to  have  you  como  up,  if  you  stay  long  enough." 

"  As  this  is  tho  case,  perhaps  you  can  tell  mo  if  I  am  likely  to 
have  a  good  house  to-night  ?" 

"  I  reckon  as  how  you  will ;  that  is,  if  you  don't  eheargo  tew 
aiuch." 

" Where  shall  I  got  tho  best  room?" 

Well,  I  guess,  you  had  better  try  tho  old  meotin'  house." 

"  Thank  you.  Allow  me,  sir  to  present  you  with  a  ticket." 
I  thought  that  I  had  got  rid  of  him,  and  aini)ly  pai«l  him  for  tho 
information  I  had  received.  Tho  ticket  was  for  a  single  admis- 
sion. Ho  took  it,  turned  it  slowly  round,  held  it  dose  to  his 
eyes,  spelt  it  carefully  over,  and  thou  stared  at  mo.  "  What 
next  ?"  thought  I. 

"  There's  my  wife.     Well  —  I  s'poso  sho'd  like  to  corao  in." 


"  Youl 
*'ldo| 

hand ;  al 

one  of  tl| 

music ; 

Then  th^ 

vory  fonj 
''  Peril 
family  til 
''  Well 
wo  don't 
Tho  Ht 
him  in  t 
I'rcieull; 
keeper,  ' 
"  It's 
u  Tm 
pow  in 
whenevtj 
Tho  0^ 
t    form 
sing  for 
learned 
waited  \ 
not  reas 
I  tho 
but  no 
mo  a  V 
^         "  Yo 
unxioui 
Wisl 
dressii 
hid  int 
"I 
night; 
did. 
bettei 
about 


LIFE    IN    THK    CI.BARINOfl. 


01 


"  You  wish  1110  to  givy  you  a  double  t  icket  ?" 

"I  dont  Cftro  if  you  dew,"  npiin  turning  tho  new  ticket  in  liin 
li.'ind ;  and,  soratcliing  UIb  liead  uioro  onrnostly,  ho  «aid,  ''  I'vo 
ono  of  the  HUiartost  boys  you  over  seed  ;  lie's  a  fust-ralv  ear  for 
iiiusio;  he  can  whistlo  any  tune  ho  hcarB  right  straight  o^l'. 
Then  there's  ray  wife's  sister  a-staying  with  us  jist  now  ;  she's 
very  fond  of  music  tew." 

'*  l*erhap9,"  said  I,  losing  all  patience,  "  you  would  icefer  a 
family  ticket?" 

"  Well ;  I'd  be  obliged.  It  don't  cost  you  any,  mister ;  and  il 
wo  don't  use  it,  I'll  return  it  to-morrow." 

Tho  stranger  left  mo,  and  I  saw  no  niuro  of  him,  nntil  I  spii  il 
liiiii  in  tho  concert-rooii  ,  with  a  Hiiiall  family  of  ten  or  twelve. 
l'i("»eulJy,  another  man  and  a  dog  arrived.  Says  ho  to  tho  door- 
keeper, "  What's  a-goin'  on  here  If" 

"  It's  a  concert — admission,  half-a-doUur." 

''  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  give  half-a-doUar  to  go  in  here.  I  hire  a 
l)ew  in  this  hero  church  by  the  year,  and  I've  a  right  to  go  in 
whenever  tho  door's  open."    So  in  he  went  Avith  his  dog. 

The  evening  turned  out  very  wot,  and  these  people  happened 
t  form  all  my  audience;  and  as  I  did  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to 
HJiig  for  their  especial  benefit,  I  returned  to  my  lodgings.  I 
learned  from  my  door-keeper  tho  next  morning,  that  my  friends 
waited  for  an  hour  and  ,  half  for  my  re-appearance,  which  could 
iu)t  reasoiiubly  havo  been  expected  under  existing  circum.stances. 

I  thought  I  hu'l  got  rid  of  tho  musical  shoemaker  for  ever, 
but  no  such  good  luck.  Before  I  was  out  of  my  bed,  he  paid 
mo  a  visit. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  calling  so  car'v,"  says  he,  "but  I  was 
anxious  to  see  you  before  you  left  the  tuvvn," 

Wishing  him  at  the  bottom  of  tho  Mississipr  i,  I  put  on  my 
dressing-gown,  and  slipped  from  my  bed  whils.  he  continued 
hid  introductory  address. 

"  I  was  very  sorry  that  you  had  not  a  better  attendance  last 
night;  and  I  s'poso  that  ii  "unted  for  your  leaving  us  as  you 
did.  We  wore  all  kinder  disappointed.  You'd  havo  had  a 
better  house,  only  tho  people  thought  there  was  a  leetle  humbug 
about  this,"  and  he  handed  mo  ono  of  my  programmes. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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O 


"t  *i' 


is 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


2.5 
2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


U    IIIIII.6 


V] 


<^ 


% 


/^ 


/ 


'^a 


^^■'j 


0 


7 


/A 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


2?  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


0 


92 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARTNG8. 


It  is  well  known  to  most  of  my  readers,  that  in  writing  tlieso 
bills  the  name  of  the  composer  generally  folIoAvs  the  song,  par- 
ticularly in  any  very  popular  compositions,  such  as 

Grand  Introduction  to  Pianoforte.  .  Henry  Hertz. 

Life  on  the  Ocean  Wave Henry  Russell. 

Old  EngUsh  Gentleman Melodyby  Mart.  Luther. 


a 

a  set 

(I 

lest 
you 
fror 


"  Humbug,"  said  I,  attempting  to  take  the  bill,  in  order  to  see 
that  no  mistake  had  originated  in  the  printing,  but  mj'^  tormen- 
tor held  it  fa?t.  "  Look,"  said  he ;  "  Now  where  is  Henry 
Ilortz ;  and  Henry  Kussell,  where  is  he  ?  And  the  Old  English 
Gentleman,  Martin  Luther,  what  has  become  of  him?  The 
folks  said  that  he  was  dead,  but  I  didn't  believe  that,  for  I  didn't 
think  that  you  would  have  had  the  face  to  put  his  name  in  your 
bill  if  he  was." 

Thus  ended  my  acquaintance  with  the  enlightened  shoemaker 
of  the  Mississippi.  I  was  travelling  in  one  of  the  western  canal 
boats  the  same  summer,  and  was  sauntering  to  and  fro  upon  the 
deck,  admiring  the  beauty  of  the  country  through  which  we 
were  passing,  when  I  observed  a  very  tall,  thin-faced,  sharp 
looking  man,  regarding  me  with  very  fixed  attention.  Not 
knowing  who  or  what  he  was,  I  was  at  last  a  little  annoyed  by 
the  pertinacity  of  his  steady  stare.  It  was  evident  that  he 
meditated  an  attack  upon  me  in  some  shape  or  other.  Suddenly 
ho  came  up  to  me,  and  extending  his  hand  exclaimed. 

"Why,  Mister  II ,  is  this  you?    I  have  not  seen  you 

— :    it  seems  a  tarna- 


since  you  gave  your  cor  ort  in  N 

tion  long  while  ago.  I  thought,  perhaps,  you  had  got  blowed  up 
in  one  of  those  exploded  steam-boats.  But  here  you  are  as  large 
as  life — and  that's  not  over  large  neither  (glancing  at  the  slight 
dimensions  of  my  figure),  and  as  ready  to  raise  the  wind  as  ever. 
I  am  highly  gratified  to  meet  with  you,  as  I  have  one  of  the 
greatest  songs  you  ever  he'rd  to  show  you.  If  you  can  but  set  it 
to  music,  and  sing  it  in  New  York  city,  it  will  immortalize  you, 
and  immortalize  me  tew." 

Amused  at  the  earnestness  with  which  the  fellow  spoke,  I 
inquired  the  subject  of  his  soug. 


;• 


LIFE    IN    TlIK    CLEAUINtiS. 


93 


5S0 


R. 


36 
1- 

7 
h 

0 

't 


"Oil,  'tis  des — crip — tivo ;  'tis  tre — men — doiw.  It  will  make 
a  sensation  all  over  the  Union." 

"  But  what  is  it  about  ? — Have  you  got  it  witli  you  ?" 

"No — no,  mister;  I  never  put  those  things  down  on  paper, 
lest  other  folk  should  find  them  and  steal  them.  But  I'll  give 
you  some  idee  of  what  it  is.  Look  yon,  mister.  I  was  going 
from  Syracuse  to  Rochester,  on  the  canal-boat.  "We  met  on  our 
way  a  tre — men — dous  storm.  The  wind  blew,  and  the  rain 
came  down  like  old  sixty,  and  everything  looked  as  black  as  my 
liat ;  and  the  passengers  got  scared  and  wanted  to  get  off,  but  the 
captain  sung  out,  'Whew — let  em  go,  Jem !'  and  away  wo  went 
at  tho  rate  of  two  miles  an  hour,  and  they  could  not  stop.  By  and 
by  we  struck  a  rock,  and  down  wo  went." 

"  Indeed!"  said  T,  "  that's  very  unusual  in  a  canal-boat ;  were 
any  lives  lost  ?" 

"  No,  but  we  wero  all  dreadfully  skeared  and  covered  with 
mud.  I  sat  down  by  the  en — gine  till  I  got  dry,  and  then  I  wrote 
my  pome.  I  will  repeat  what  I  can  to  you,  and  what  I  can't 
I  will  write  right  off  when  I  gets  hum. — Hold  on — ^hold  on — " 
he  continued,  beating  his  forehead  with  the  back  of  las  hand,  as 
if  to  awaken  the  powers  of  memory — "  I  have  it  now — I  have  it 
now, — 'tis  tre — men — dous — " 


"  Oh  Lord,  who  know'st  the  wants  of  men, 
Guide  my  hand,  and  guide  my  pen, 
And  help  me  bring  the  truth  to  light, 
Of  that  dread  scene  and  awful  night, 
Ri,  tu,  ri,  tu,  ri,  tu. 

There  was  Mister  Cadoga  in  years  a-buil, 
Was  found  next  morning  in  tew  feet  mud  : 
He  strove — he  strove, — but  all  in  vain, 
The  more  he  got  up,  he  fell  down  again. 
Ri,  tu,  ri,  tu,  ri,  tu." 


The  poet  paused  for  a  moment  to  gain  breath,  evidently  over- 
come by  the  recollection  of  the  awful  scene.  "  la  not  that  bee— 
u— tiful  ?"  he  exclaimed.    " "What  a  fine  effect  you  could  give  to 


'!' 


h 


■MiM  jgiji  ibUiBKsggaas^^i''^, 


-.',  ."J!j„.iw.iaa^ 


04 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


I     111 


that  on  the  pee — ft — ne,  hnmouring  the  keys  to  imitate  the 
squabbhng  about  in  the  mud.  Let  me  tell  you  mister,  it  would 
boat  Kussell's  '  Ship  on  Fire'  all  hollow." 

Wipiug  the  porf^piration  from  bis  face,  he  recommenced,— 

"  The  passengers  ruslied  unto  the  spot, 
Together  with  the  crew  ; 
We  got  him  safe  out  of  the  mud, 
But  he  hail  lost  his  shoe. 

Ri,  tu,  ri,  tu,  ri,  tu." 

I  could  not  listen  to  another  line  of  this  sublime  eiViision,  tlic 
passengers  who  had  gathered  around  us  drowning  his  nasal  drawl 
in  a  complete  roar  of  laughter.  Seeing  that  I  was  us  nnich  infec- 
ted as  the  rest,  the  poet  turned  to  me,  Avith  an  air  of  olFcndod 
dignity,— 

"I  don't  take  the  trouble,  mister,  to  rcpen  any  more  of  my 
pomes  to  you  ;  nor  do  I  take  it  kind  at  all,  your  laughing  at  mo 
in  that  ere  way.  But  the  truth  is,  you  can't  comprehend  nor 
appreciate  anything  that  is  sublime,  or  out  of  the  common  way. 
Besides,  I  don't  think  you  could  set  it  to  music ;  it  is  not  in  you, 
and  you  can't  fix  it  no  'low." 

This  singular  addres'.  renewed  our  mirth ;  and,  finding  myself 
unable  to  control  m^  inclination  to  laugh,  and  not  wishing  to 
hurt  his  feelings,  I  was  about  to  leave  him,  when  the  man  at  the 
helm  sung  out  "Bridge !" 

The  passengers  lowered  their  heads  to  ensure  their  safety — all 
but  my  friend  the  poet,  who  was  too  much  excited  to  notice  the 
signal  before  he  came  in  contact  with  the  bridge,  which  sent  hini 
sprawling  down  the  gangway.  lie  picked  himself  up,  clambered 
up  the  stairs,  and  began  striding  up  and  down  the  dock  at  a 
tremendous  rate,  casting  from  time  to  tin-:*  indignant  glances 
at  me. 

I  thought,  for  my  part,  that  the  man  was  not  in  his  right  senses, 
or  that  the  blow  he  had  received,  had  so  dulled  his  bump  of  cau- 
tion, that  ho  conld  no  longer  take  care  of  himself ;  for  the  next 
moment  he  stumbled  over  a  little  child,  and  would  have  been 
hurt  severely  if  I  had  not  broken  his  fall,  by  catching  his  arm 


befoJ 

assis| 
conf 

you 
thoi 
of  al 

ued,| 
tice 
I 

and, 
pres 
or  si 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


95 


I  the 
ould 


it 


i 


before  he  again  measured  hi.s  length  on  the  deck.  My  timely 
assistance  mollified  his  anger ;  he  once  more  became  friendly  and 
confidential. 

"Here,  take  this  piece  of  poetry,  Mister  II ,  and  see  if 

you  can  set  it  to  music.  Mind  you,  it  is  none  of  mine ;  but 
though  not  quite  so  good,  it  is  som'at  in  my  style.  I  cut  it  out 
of  a  newspaper  down  East.  You  arc  welcome  to  it,''  he  contin- 
ued, with  a  patronizing  nod,  "  that  in,  if  you  arc  able  to  do  jus- 
tice to  the  subject." 

I  took  the  piece  of  dirty  crumpled  newspaper  from  his  hrtn<l ; 
and,  struck  with  the  droll  quizzing  humour  of  the  lines,  I  have 
preserved  them  ever  since.  As  I  have  never  seen  them  before 
or  since,  I  give  you  them  here. 

TO  THE  FALLS  OF  NIAGARA. 

'*  I  wonder  how  long  you've  been  roarin' 
At  this  infernal  rate  ; 
I  wonder  if  all  you've  been  pourin' 
Could  be  cipher'd  on  a  slate. 

"  I  wonder  how  such  a  thundcrin'  sounded 
When  all  New  York  was  woods, — 
'Spose  likely  some  Indians  have  been  drowudod, 
When  the  rains  have  raised  your  floods. 

"  I  wonder  if  wild  stags  and  bufl'aloc.s 
liave  stood  where  now  I  stand  ; 
Well — b'pose  being  scared  at  first,  they  stubb'd  their  toea  j 
I  wonder  where  they'd  land. 

"I  wonder  if  that  rainbow  has  been  shinin' 
Since  sun-rise  at  creation  ; 
And  this  waterfall  been  underminin' 
With  constant  spatteration. 


. 


"  That  Moses  never  mention'd  ye — I've  wonder'd, 
While  other  things  describin' ; — 
My  conscience  ! — how  ye  must  have  foam'd  and  tbundcr'd 
When  the  deluge  was  subsidin' ! 


'H 


■  ?    I 


06  LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 

'*  My  thoughts  are  atrange,  magnificent  and  deep, 
When  I  look  down  on  thee ; — 
Oh,  what  a  glorious  placo  for  washing  sheep 
Niagara  would  bo  ! 

*'  And  oh,  what  a  trem  mdous  water  power 
Is  washed  over  its  cnlgc  ; 
One  man  might  furnish  all  the  world  with  flour, 
With  a  single  privilege. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  times  the  lakes  have  all 
Been  emptied  over  here ; 
Why  Clinton  did  not  feed  the  grand  Canal 
Up  here — I  think  is  queer. 

"  Tlio  thoughts  are  very  strange  tliat  crowd  my  brain, 
When  I  look  up  to  thee  ; 
Such  thoughts  I  never  expect  to  have  again, 
To  all  eternity." 

After  reading  the  Hues,  I  beggec\jny  friend  to  excuse  nie,  as  1 
wanted  to  go  below  and  take  a  nap.  I  liad  not  been  long  in  tlie 
cabin  before  be  followed  me.  To  get  rid  of  bim,  I  pretended  to 
bo  asleep.  After  passing  me  two  or  three  times,  and  leaning  over 
me  in  the  most  inquisitive  manner,  until  his  long  nose  nearly 
went  into  my  eye  ;  and  humming  a  bow-wow  tune  in  my  car  to 
ascertain  if  I  were  really  napping,  be  turned  from  mo  with  a  dis- 
satisfied grunt,  flung  himself  into  a  settee,  and  not  long  after  was 
puffing  and  blowing  like  a  porpoise.  I  was  glad  of  this  oppor- 
iiinity  to  go  on  deck  again,  and  "I  left  him  alone  in  his  glory." 
But,  while  I  was  congratulating  myself  on  my  good  fortune,  I 
found  liim  once  more  at  my  side. 

iJood  heavens  1  how  I  wished  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  canal, 
when  ho  coiiiiUenced  telling  me  some  oajd/uI  dream  he  had  bad. 
I  was  too  much  annoyed  at  being  pestered  with  his  company  to 
listen  to  bim,  a  circumstance  I  now  rather  regret,  for  had  his 
dreams  been  equal  to  his  poetry,  they  certainly  must  have  pos- 
sessed the  rare  merit  of  originality ;  and  I  could  have  gratified 
my  readers  with  something  entirely  out  of  the  common  way. 


Tu| 

anotli 
retire 

cabini 

u 

ashoi'l 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


97 


I 


Turning  abruptly  from  him,  I  entered  into  conversation  with 
another  gentleman,  and  quite  forgot  my  eccentric  friend  until  I 
retired  for  the  night,  when  I  found  him  waiting  for  mo  in  the 
cabin. 

" Ho,  ho,  mister, — is  that  you?  I  was  afear^d  we  had  put  you 
ashore.     What  berth  are  you  goin'  to  take?  " 

I  pointed  to  No.  4. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "would  you  have  any  objection  to  my  locat- 
ing in  the  one  above  you,  as  I  feel  a  leetle  afear'df  It  is  so 
awful  dark  out-doors,  and  the  clouds  look  tre — men — dous  black, 
as  if  they'd  be  a-pourin'  all  night.  The  reason  why  I  prefer  the 
upper  berth  is  this,"  he  continued  confidentially ;  "  if  we  should 
fall  in  with  a  storm,  and  all  go  to  the  bottom,  I  should  have  a 
better  chance  of  saving  myself.  But  mind  you,  if  she  should  sink 
I  will  give  you  half  of  my  berth,  if  you'll  come  np." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  offer,  and  not  being  at  all  apprehensive, 
I  told  him  that  I  preferred  staying  where  I  was.  Soon  after  I 
retired,  hoping  to  sleep,  but  I  had  not  calculated  on  the  powers 
of  annoyance  possessed  by  my  quondam  friend.  I  had  just  laid 
myself  comfortably  down,  when  I  felt  one  of  his  huge  feet  on  the 
Bide  of  my  berth.  Looking  out,  I  espied  him  crawling  up  on  all- 
fours  to  his  place  of  security  for  the  night.  His  head  had  scarcely 
touched  the  pillow  before  he  commenced  telling  me  some  long 
yarn;  but  I  begged  him,  in  no  very  gentle  tone,  to  hold  on  till 
the  morning,  as  I  had  a  very  severe  headache,  and  wanted  to  go 
to  sleep. 

I  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  doze,  when  I  thought  I  heard  some 
one  talking  in  a  low  voice  close  to  my  ear.  I  started  into  a  sitting 
posture,  and  listened  a  moment.  It  was  pitch  dark ;  I  could  see 
nothing.  I  soon,  however,  discovered  that  the  mysterious  sounds 
proceeded  from  the  berth  above  mo.  It  was  my  friend  reciting, 
either  for  my  amusement  or  his  own,  the  poem  he  had  favoured 
me  with  in  the  morning.  He  was  apparently  nearly  asleep,  and 
he  drawled  the  half-uttered  sentences  through  his  nose  in  the 
most  ludicrous  manner.  He  was  recapitulating  the  disastrous 
condition  of  Mr.  Oadoza : — 


\   I 


miin¥tgwt\*tnnimii>iit,\  Viirriii' 


08 


LIJf'E   IN    TUE    CLEAU1NG8. 


"  There  was  Mister  Ca-do-zo — in  years  o-buJ— 
Next  morning — tew — feet — mud — 
Ho  strove — but — in  vain ; 
The  more  ho  fell — dowii — ho  got  up — ag-a-in. 

Rl— tu— ri— tu." 

Ilcro  followed  a  tremendous  snore,  and  I  burst  into  a  pro- 
longed fit  of  laughter,  which  fortunately  did  not  put  a  stop  to 
tlio  sonorous  bass  of  my  companion  overhead,  whoso  snoring  I 
considered  far  more  tolerable  than  his  conversation. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  boat  struck  tlie  bank,  which  it  fre- 
quently does  of  a  very  dark  njght,  which  gave  tlie  vessel  sucli  a 
shock,  that  it  broke  the  cords  that  secured  the  poet's  bed  to  tlio 
beam  above,  and  down  he  came,  licad  foremost,  to  the  floor. 
This  accident  occasioned  me  no  small  discomfort,  as  he  nearly 
took  my  berth  with  him.  It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  was 
awake,  or  he  might  have  killed  me  in  his  descent :  as  it  was,  I 
had  only  time  to  throw  myself  back,  when  he  rushed  past  mo 
with  the  speed  of  an  avalanche,  carrying  bed  and  bed-clothes 
witli  him  in  one  confused  heap ;  and  there  he  lay  upon  the 
floor,  rolling  and  roaring  like  some  wild  beast  caught  in  a  net. 

"  Oh,  dear  1  oh,  dear !  I  wonder  where  I  is ;  what  a  tre — 
men — dous  storm — what  a  dreadful  night — not  a  soul  can  bo 
saved. — I  knew  it — I  dreampt  it  all.  O  Lord !  we  shall  all  go 
to  the  bottom  and  nnd  eternity  there. — Captain — captain — whero 
be  wo?" 

Ilere  a  child  belonging  to  one  of  the  passengers,  awakened  by 
his  bellowing,  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  dear!  Some  one  else  is  sinking.  Captain — captain — 
confound  him !  I  s'pose  he's  drownded,  like  the  rest.  Thank 
heaven  I  here's  something  to  hold  on  to,  to  keep  me  from  sink- 
ing!" and,  clutching  at  the  table  in  the  dark,  he  upset  it,  and 
broke  the  large  lamp  that  had  been  left  upon  it.  Down  came 
the  broken  glass  upon  him  in  a  shower  which,  doubtless,  he  took 
for  the  waves  breaking  over  him,  for  he  raised  such  a  clatter 
with  his  hands  and  feet,  and  uttered  such  doleful  screams,  that 
the  passengers  started  simultaneously  from  their  sleep, — 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  is  that  man  mad  or  drunk  ?"  exclaimed 
several  voices.  ' 


< 


Til 
"W| 

catcU 

rii 

bertl 

the 

upoil 


LIFE   IN    THE    CLEARINGS, 


99 


The  gentleman  beneath  tlio  bed-clothes  again  gi'oaned  forth, — 
"  Wo  are  all  lost.  If  I  once  get  upon  dry  laud,  you'll  never 
catch  uio  in  a  canal -boat  agin." 

Pitying  Lis  distress  I  got  up,  groped  my  way  to  tlic  steward's 
berth,  and  succeeded  in  procuring  a  light.  AVhcn  I  rt'turned  to 
the  cabin,  I  found  the  poet  lying  on  the  lloor,  with  the  table 
upon  him,  and  ho  holding  it  fast  with  both  hands,  crying  voho- 
inently,  "  I  will  never  let  go.    I  will  hang  on  to  the  last." 

"  You  are  dreaming,"  said  I ;  "  come,  got  up.  The  cords  of 
your  bed  were  not  strong  enough  to  hold  you,  and  you  have  got 
a  tumble  on  to  the  floor;  nothing  else  is  the  matter  with  you." 

As  I  ceased  speaking  tho  vessel  again  struck  the  bank,  and  my 
friend,  in  his  eagerness  to  save  himself,  upset  me,  liglit  and  all. 
I  again  upset  all  the  small  pieces  of  furniture  in  my  reach,  to  tho 
great  amusement  of  the  passengers,  who  were  sitting  up  in  their 
berths,  listening  to,  and  laughing  at  our  conversation.  "We  were 
all  once  more  in  the  dark,  and  I  can  assure  my  readers  that  my 
situation  was  everything  but  comfortable,  as  the  eccentric  gentle- 
man had  hold  of  both  of  my  legs. 

"  You  foolish  fellow,"  cried  I,  kicking  with  all  my  might  to 
free  myself.  "  There  is  no  harm  done ;  the  boat  has  only  struck 
again  upon  tho  bank." 

"  Where  is  the  bank  ?  "  said  he,  still  labouring  under  tho  delu- 
sion that  ho  was  in  tho  water.  "  Give  mo  a  hold  on  it.  If  I 
can  only  got  on  tho  bank  I  shall  bo  safe." 

Finding  ^t  impossible  to  convince  bim  how  matters  really 
stood,  I  left  him  to  unrol  himself  to  his  full  dimensions  on  tlio 
floor,  and  groping  my  way  to  a  sofa,  laid  myself  down  once  moro 
to  sleep. 

When  the  passengers  met  at  the  breakfast-tablo,  the  poor  poet 
and  his  misfortunes  during  the  night  gave  rise  to  much  quizzing 
and  merriment,  particularly  when  he  made  his  appearance  with 
a  black  eye,  and  tho  skin  rubbed  off  the  tip  of  his  nose. 

One  gentleman,  who  was  most  active  in  teaaing  Iiim,  cried  out 


to  me — "Mr.  H- 


do  try  and  set  last  night's  adventure  to 


music,  and  sing  them  this  evening  at  your  concert.    They  would 
make  a  I/re — men — dous  sensation^  I  assure  you." 
The  poet  looked  daggers  at  us,  and  seizing  his  carpet-bag, 


I  n* 


1  (I    ( 


100 


LIFB   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


sprang  to  the  deck,  and  from  the  deck  to  tlio  shore,  which  lio 
fortunatoly  readied  in  safety,  without  casting  a  parting  glance  at 
his  tormentors. 


^t 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AIR. 

"  Rave  not  to  mo  of  your  sparkling  wino ; 
Bid  not  for  mo  tho  goblet  shine  ; 
My  soul  is  athirst  for  a  draught  more  rare, 
A  gush  of  the  pure  fresh  mountain  air ! 

"  It  wafts  on  its  currents  tlio  rich  perfume 
Of  tho  purple  heath,  and  the  honied  broom ; 
The  golden  furze,  and  the  hawthorn  fair, 
Shed  all  their  sweets  to  the  mountain  air. 

"  It  playa  round  tho  bank  of  tho  mossy  stono, 
Where  tho  violet  droops  like  a  nun  alone  ; 
Shrouding  her  eyes  from  tho  noon-tide  glare, 
But  breathing  her  soul  to  tho  mountain-air. 

"  It  gives  to  my  spirits  a  tone  of  mirth — 
I  bound  with  joy  o'er  the  new-dressed  earth, 
When  spring  has  scatter'd  her  blossoms  there. 
And  laden  with  balm  the  mountain  air. 


\ 


*'  From  nature's  fountain  my  nectar  flows, 
'Tis  the  essence  of  each  sweet  bud  that  blows ; 
Then  come,  and  with  me  the  banquet  share. 
Let  us  breath  together  the  mountain  air  1 " 


) 


>  I 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


101 


no 
at 


CHAPTER  Vr. 

TRIALS  OP  A  TRAVELLING  MUSICIAN. 

THE  SFNGINO  SCnOOL. 

"  Conceit's  an  excellent  f^reatcoat,  and  sticks 
Close  to  the  wearer  for  his  mortal  life  ; 
It  has  no  spot  or  wrinkle  in  his  eyes,  ■ 
And  quite  cuts  out  the  coats  of  other  men." 

S.  M. 

"  lie  had  a  *'(Mlc  sadly  out  of  tune, 

A  voice  as  husky  as  a  raven  croaking, 
Or  owlet  hooting  to  the  clouded  moon, 
Or  bloated  l)ull-frog  in  some  mud-hole  choking." 

During  my  professional  journies  through  tho  country,  I  liavo 
often  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  tlio  singing  schools  in  tho  small 
towns  and  villages  through  which  I  passed.  These  are  often 
taught  by  persons  who  are  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  common 
rules  of  music — men  who  have  followed  the  plough  all  their 
lives,  and  know  about  as  much  of  tho  divine  science  they  pretend 
to  teach  as  one  of  their  oxen. 

I  liave  often  been  amused  at  their  manner  of  explaining  tho 
principles  of  their  art  to  their  pupils,  who  profit  so  little  by 
their  instructions,  that  they  are  as  wise  at  the  end  of  their  quar- 
ter as  when  they  began.  The  master  usually  endeavours  to  im- 
press upon  them  tho  importance  of  making  themselves  heard,  and 
calls  him  the  smartest  fellow  who  is  able  to  make  the  most  noise. 
Tho  constant  vibration  they  keep  up  through  their  noies  gives 
you  tho  idea  that  their  teacher  has  been  in  the  habit  of  raising 
sheep,  and  had  caught  many  of  tlicir  peculiar  notes.  Tiiis  stylo 
ho  very  kindly  imparts  to  his  pupils ;  and  as  apt  scholars  gene- 
rally try  to  imitate  their  master,  choirs  taught  by  these  indi- 
viduals resemble  a  flock  of  sheep  going  bahing  one  after  another 
over  a  wall. 

I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  one  of  these  schools,  that  I  hap- 
pened to  visit  during  my  stay  in  the  town  of  W ,  in  tho 

Avestern  states.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  music  masters  are 
like  tho  one  I  am  about  to  describe,  but  he  bears  a  very  close 


rnrnw^-.'^' 


102 


Linn   IN   TTTB   CLKARINOS. 


rcscmblnnoo  to  a  ^Tont  mnny  of  tho  Bftnio  calling,  wlio  practise 
tlicir  jinifcssion  in  retnoto  sottloniontrt,  Avlioro  thoy  aro  not  likuly 
to  liiid  many  to  criticise  their  port'ornuinco. 

I  had  advortiHed  a  concert  for  the  2d  of  January,  1848,  to  ho 

given  in  the  town  of  W .     I  arrived  on  the  day  aijpointed, 

and  fortunately  made  the  accjuaintance  of  several  pontlemen 
amateurs,  who  happened  to  he  hoarding  at  tho  hotel  to  wliicn  I 
liad  heen  roconiinended.  Thoy  kindly  manifested  a  lively  inte- 
rewt  in  my  fiuccoHs,  and  promised  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  pro- 
cure me  a  fjood  house. 

Wliile  seated  at  dinner,  one  of  my  now  friends  received  a  note, 
which  he  said  came  from  a  sinping  master  residing  in  a  small 

village  a  few  miles  back  ot  W .    After  reading  the  epistle, 

and  laughing  heartily  over  its  contents,  ho  gave  it  to  mo.  To 
my  great  astonishment  it  ran  as  follows : — 

"My  dbae  RonERTS, 

"IIow  do  you  do?  I  hope  you  will  excuse  mo  for  trou- 
bling you  on  this  occasion ;  but  I  want  to  ax  you  a  partic'lar 
question.  Is  you  acquainted  with  the  man  who  is  a-goin'  to  give 
a  sing  in  your  town  to  night?  If  you  bo,  jist  say  to  him,  from 
mo,  that  if  he  will  come  over  here,  we  will  get  him  up  a  house. 
If  ho  will — or  won't  cum — please  lot  me  know.  I  am  teaching 
ft  singing  school  over  here,  and  I  can  do  a  great  deal  for  him,  if 
he  will  only  cum.  Yours  most  respectfully, 

"John  Browne." 


"  Yon  had  better  go,  Mr.  IT ,"  said  Roberts.    "  This  John 

Browne  is  a  queer  chap,  and  I  promise  you  lots  of  fun.  If  you 
decide  upon  going  wo  will  all  accompany  you,  and  help  to  fill 
your  house. 

"  By  all  moans,"  said  I.  "  You  will  do  me  a  great  favor  to 
return  an  answer  to  the  professional  gentleman  to  that  effect.  I 
will  send  him  some  of  my  programmes,  and  if  ho  can  get  a  tolera- 
ble piano,  I  will  go  over  and  give  them  a  concert  next  Saturday 
evening." 

The  note  and  tho  bills  of  performance  were  duly  despatched 
to  ,  and  the  next  morning  we  received  an  answer  from 


LIFE    IN   TUB    CLRAUINOS. 


103 


DO 


tlio  slnpnp  TTiftstcr  tosny  tlmt  nil  was  HkIj^,  ftnd  thftt  Mr.  Browno 

would  1)0  I  iipjiy  to  f,'ivo  iMr.  J I his  vivluiiMo  Uiisistanco;  but, 

if  possiMo,  lio  wislied  that  J  conld  (louio  out  on  Friday,  in8tea<l 
of  Saturday,  as  hi.s  aclioid  met  on  that  ovoniuf^  at  hIx  o'clork, 
and  lio  would  like  mo  to  Avitness  tho  pcrformanco  of  Ids  sciioIarM, 
■which  would  only  last  from  llvo  in  tho  evening  till  six,  and  con- 
He()uei»tly  need  not  interfero  at  all  with  my  coucort,  which  was 
to  commence  at  eight. 

Wo  ordered  a  conveyance  immediately,  and  as  it  was  tlie  very 

day  signified  in  the  note,  wo  started  otl'for  the  village  of . 

On  our  arrival  wo  were  met  at  tho  door  of  tho  only  liotol  in  tho 
place,  by  tho  man  a  "  Icetle  in  my  lino." 

"Is  this  you,  Mr.  Thliig-a-my.  I  can't  for  tho  life  of  mo  think 
of  your  name.  But  no  matter.  Ain't  you  tho  chap  as  is  a-goin' 
to  give  us  tho  con-sort  this  evening? " 

I  answered  in  tho  affirmative,  and  lio  continued — 

"What  a  li'ctle  fellow  you  be.  Now  I  stand  six  foot  four 
inches  in  my  boots,  and  my  voice  is  high  in  i)roportion.  But  I 
s'poso  you  can  sing.  Small  fellows  allors  make  a  groat  noiso.  A 
bantam  roaster  allers  crows  as  loud  as  an  old  game  crowor,  to 
make  folks  believe  that  tho  dung-hill  is  his'n." 

I  was  very  mucli  amused  at  his  comparing  mo  to  a  bantam 
cock,  and  felt  almost  inclined  to  clap  my  wings  and  crow. 

"I  liave  sent  all  your  bills  about  town,"  continued  tho  odd 
man,  "  and  invited  all  tho  tip-toi)3  to  cum  and  hear  you.  I  have 
engaged  a  good  room,  and  forty  pound  peo-a-no.  I  s'poso  it's 
worth  as  much,  for  'tis  a  terrible  smart  one.  It  belongs  to  Dea- 
con S ;  and  his  two  daughters  aro  the  prettiest  gals  here- 
abouts. They  play  '  Old  Dan  Tucker,'  and  all  manner  of  tunes. 
I  found  it  deuced  hard  to  get  the  old  woman's  consent ;  but  I 
knew  she  wouldn't  refuse  me,  as  she  is  looking  out  to  cotch  rao 
for  ono  of  tho  daughters.  She  made  many  objections — said  that 
she  would  rather  tho  ch(  cse-press  and  the  cook-stove,  and  all  tho 
rest  of  the  furniture  went  out  of  tho  house  than  tho  pee-a-ne,  as 
she  was  afear'd  that  the  strings  would  break,  and  all  tho  keys 
spill  out  by  the  way.  The  strings  are  rusty,  and  the  keys  loose 
enough  already.  I  told  the  old  missus  that  I  would  take  good 
oaro  that  the  right  side  was  kept  uppermost ;  and  that  if  any 


I  7' 

J"'      ''   ( ■ 


=«aa=B<-Bi- 


104 


UFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


.[i  :l 


harm  happened  to  the  instrument,  you  could  set  it  all  riglit 
agin." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  "to  hear  such  a  poor  account  of  the 
instrument.    It  is  impossible  to  sing  well  to  a  bad  piano — " 

"Phoo,  phoo,  man  I  there's  nobody  hero  that  ever  he'rd  a 
better.  Bad  or  good,  it's  the  only  one  in  the  village.  I  i)lay  on 
this  pee-a-ne  a  leetlo  myself,  and  that  ought  to  bo  some  eucour- 
figement  to  you.  I  am  goin'  to  do  a  considerable  business  in  tlio 
singing  line  here.  I  have  stirred  up  all  the  leetle  girls  and  boys 
ill  the  place,  and  set  them  whistling  an'  playing  on  the  Jew's 
liarp.  Then  I  goes  to  the  old  'uus,  and  says  to  them,  what 
^enuses  for  music  ;.hese  young  'uns  be !  it  is  your  duty  to  im- 
prove a  talent  that  providence  has  bestowed  on  your  children. 
1  puts  on  a  long  face,  like  a  parson,  when  I  talks  of  providence 
niid  the  like  o'  that,  and  you  don't  know  how  amazingly  it  takes 
with  the  old  folks.  They  think  that  providence  is  allors  on  the 
look  out  to  do  them  some  good  turn. — 

'"What  do  you  charge,  Mr.  Browne?'  says  they,  instantor. 

"  Oh,  a  mere  trifle,  says  I  instanter.  Jist  half-a-dollar  a  quar- 
ter— part  in  cash,  part  in  produce. 

""Tis  cheap,'  says  they  agin. 

"Tew  llctle,  says  I,  by  half. 

" '  Well,  the  children  shall  go,'  says  the  old  man.  'Missus,  you 
see  to  it.' 

"  The  children  like  to  hear  themselves  called  genuses,  and  they 
go  into  it  like  smoke.  When  I  am  tuning  my  voice  at  my  lodg- 
ings in  the  evenin'  just  by  way  of  recreation,  the  leetle  boys  all 
gets  round  my  winder,  to  listen  to  my  singing.  They  are  so  fond 
of  it  I  can't  get  them  away.  They  make  such  a  confounded 
T»'v<i;:v;  in  trying  to  imitate  my  splendid  style.  But  I'll  leave  you 
to  jiuv*^  of  that  for  yourself.  'Spose  you'll  bo  up  with  me  to  the 
*-'inping-school,  and  then  you  will  hear  what  I  can  do." 

"  1  ,  Lall  be  most  happy  to  attend  you." 

"  Y'^n  see,  Mr.  Thing-a-my,  this  is  my  first  lesson,  and  you 
make  all  allowances,  if  there  should  be  any  trouble,  or  tliat  all 
should  not  go  right.  You  see  one  seldom  gets  the  hang  of  it  the 
first  night,  no  how.  I  have  been  farming  most  of  my  life,  but  I 
quits  that  about  five  weeks  ago,  and  have  been  studying  hard  for 


LIFK    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


106 


my  profession  over  since.    I  have  got  a  largo  school  liere,  another 


at  A- 


and  another  at  L- 


and  before  the  winter  is  over, 
.    I  play  the  big  bass  fiddle 


I  shall  be  qualified  to  teach  at  W 

and  the  vio.in  right  off,  and — " 

Here  a  little  boy  came  running  up  to  say  that  his  father's 
sheep  had  got  out  of  the  yard,  and  had  gone  down  to  Deacon 
S  ;  and,  said  he,  "  The  folks  have  sent  for  you,  Mister 
Browne,  to  cum  and  turn  'em  out." 

"A  merciful  intervention  of  providence,"  thouprht  I,  who  was 
already  heartily  weary  of  my  new  acquaintance,  and  began  to  be 
afraid  that  I  never  should  get  rid  of  him.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
was  so  tired  of  looking  up  at  him,  that  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
converse  much  longer  with  him  without  endangering  the  elasti- 
city of  my  neck,  and  he  would  have  been  affronted  if  I  had  asked 
him  to  walk  in  and  sit  down. 

He  was  not  very  well  pleased  with  Deacon  S 's  message. 

"  That  comes  of  borrowing,  mister.  If  I  had  not  asked  the 
lo.vn  of  the  pee-a-nc,  they  never  would  have  sent  for  me  to  loak 
arter  their  darned  sheep.  I  must  go,  however.  I  hope  you'll 
be  able  to  keep  yourself  alive  in  my  absence.  I  have  got  to 
string  up  the  old  fiddle  for  to-night.  The  singing-school  is 
about  a  mile  from  this.  I  will  come  down  with  my  old  mare 
arter  you,  when  it's  just  time  to  be  a-goin'.    So  good-bye." 

Away  he  strode  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour ;  his  long  legs 
accomplishing  at  one  step  what  would  have  taken  a  man  of  my 
dimensions  three  to  compass.  I  then  went  into  the  hotel  to 
order  dinner  for  my  friends,  as  he  had  allowed  me  no  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so.  The  conceited  fellow  had  kept  me  standing  a 
foot  deep  in  snow  for  the  last  hour,  while  listening  to  his  intoler- 
ably dull  conversation.  My  disgust  and  disappointment  afforded 
great  amusement  to  ray  friends;  but  in  spite  of  all  my  en- 
treaties, they  could  not  be  induced  to  leave  their  punch  and  a 
warm  fire  to  accompany  me  in  ray  pilgrimage  to  the  singing- 
school. 

"We  took  dinner  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  cloth  was  scarcely 
drawn,  when  my  musical  friend  made  his  appearance  with  the 
old  mare,  to  take  me  along  to  the  school. 

Our  turn-out  was  everything  but  prepossessing.    A  large  un- 

4 


i 

1  ■ 

I-    ^ 


106 


UTS    IK   THE   OLEARTNOS. 


wieldy  cutter  of  home  manufacture,  the  boards  of  which  it  was 
composed  uuplained  and  unpainted,  with  rope  harness,  and  an 
undressed  bull's  hide  by  way  of  buffalo's  formed  our  equipage. 
But  no  description  that  I  could  give  you  would  do  justice  to  the 
old  mare.  A  sorry  beast  she  was — thick  legged,  rough  coated, 
and  of  a  dirty-yellow  white.  Her  eyes,  over  one  of  which  a  film 
was  spread,  were  dull  as  the  eyes  of  a  stale  fish,  and  her  temples 
BO  hollow,  that  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been  woru  out  by  drag- 
ging the  last  two  generations  to  their  graves.  I  was  ashamed  of 
adding  one  more  to  the  many  burdens  she  must  have  borne  in 
her  day,  and  I  almost  wished  that  she  had  realized  in  her  own 
person  the  well-known  verse  in  the  Scotch  song — 

*'  The  auld  man's  mare's  dead, 
A  mile  ayont  Dundee," 

before  I  ever  had  set  eyes  upon  her. 

"  Can  she  carry  us?"  said  I,  pausing  irresolutely,  with  ray  foot 
on  the  rough  heavy  runner  of  the  cutter. 

"  I  guess  she  can,"  quoth  he.  "  She  will  skim  like  a  bird  over 
the  snow ;  so  get  into  the  sleigh,  and  we  will  go  straight  off  to 
the  singing-school." 

It  was  intensely  cold.  I  drew  the  collar  of  my  great  coat 
over  my  eai*s,  and  wrapped  my  half  of  the  bull's  hide  well  round 
my  feet,  and  we  started.  The  old  mare  went  better  than  could 
have  been  expected  from  such  a  skeleton  of  a  beast.  To  be  sure, 
she  had  no  weight  of  flesh  to  encumber  her  motions,  and  wo 
were  getting  on  pretty  well,  when  the  music  master  drove  too 
near  a  stump,  which  suddenly  upset  us  both,  and  tumbled  him 
head  foremost  into  a  bank  of  snow.  I  fortunately  rolled  out  a- 
top  of  him,  and  soon  extricated  myself  from  the  diflSculty ;  but 
I  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  drag  my  ponderous  companion  from 
beneath  the  snow  and  the  old  bull's  hide,  in  which  he  was  com- 
pletely enveloped. 

The  old  mare  stood  perfectly  still,  gazing  with  her  one  eye 
intentliy  on  the  mischief  she  had  done,  as  if  she  never  had  been 
guilty  of  such  a  breach  of  manners  before.  After  shaking  the 
8110W  from  our  garments,  and  getting  all  right  for  a  second  start, 
my  oompanion  exclaimed  in  an  agonized  tone— 


> 


M 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


107 


"  My  fiddlo  1  Whcro,  where  is  my  fiddle  ?  I  can  do  nothing 
without  my  fiddle." 

Wc  immediately  went  in  search  of  it;  but  we  did  not  sncceed 
in  finding  it  for  some  time-  I  had  given  it  up  in  despair,  and, 
half-frozen  with  cold,  was  stepping  into  the  cutter  to  take  the 
benefit  of  the  old  bull's  hide,  when,  fortunately  for  the  musio- 
maater,  one  of  the  strings  of  the  lost  instrument  snapped  with 
the  cold.  We  followed  the  direction  of  the  sound,  and  soon  be- 
held the  poor  fiddle  sticking  in  a  snow  bank,  and  concealed  by  a 
projecting  stump.  Tlie  instrument  had  sustained  no  other  in- 
jury than  the  loss  of  three  of  the  strings. 

"  Well,  arn't  that  too  bad  ?"  says  he.  "  I  have  no  more  cat- 
gut without  sending  to  W .  That's  done  for,  at  least  for  to- 
night." 

"  It's  very  cold,"  I  cried,  impatiently,  seeing  that  he  was  in 
no  hurry  to  move  on.  "  Do  let  us  be  going.  You  can  examine 
your  instrument  better  in  the  house  than  standing  up  to  your 
knees  in  the  snow." 

"  I  was  born  in  tlie  backwoods,"  says  he ;  "  I  don't  feel  the  cold." 
Then  jumping  into  the  cutter,  he  gave  me  the  fiddle  to  take  caro 
of,  and  pointing  with  the  right  finger  of  his  catskin  gloves  to  a 
solitary  house  on  the  top  of  a  bleak  hill,  nearly  a  mile  a-head, 
he  said — "  That  white  building  is  the  place  where  the  school  is 
held." 

Wo  soon  reached  the  spot.  "This  is  the  old  Methodist 
church,  mister,  and  a  capital  place  for  the  voice.  There  is  no 
furniture  or  hangings  to  interrupt  the  sound.  Go  right  in, 
while  I  hitch  the  mare ;  I  will  bo  arter  you  in  a  brace  of 
shakes." 

I  soon  found  myself  in  the  body  of  the  old  dilapidated  church, 
and  subjected  to  the  stare  of  n  number  of  very  unmusical-looking 
girls  and  boys,  who,  certainly  from  their  appearance,  would 
never  have  led  you  to  suppose  that  they  ever  coulu  belong  to  a 
Philharmonic  society.    Presently  Mr.  Browne  made  his  cUMt. 

Assuming  an  air  of  grert  importance  as  he  approached  hia 
pupils,  ho  said — "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  allow  rae  to  introduce 

to  your  notice  Mr.  H ,  the  celebrated  vocalist.    He  has  cum 

all  the  way  from  New  York  on  purpose  to  hear  you  sing." 


108 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


The  boys  grinned  at  mo  and  twirled  their  thumbs,  the  girls 
nudged  one  another's  elbows  and  giggled,  while  thoir  eloquent 
teacher  continued — 

"  I  don't  know  as  how  we  shall  be  able  to  do  much  to-night : 
we  upset,  and  that  spilt  my  fiddle  into  the  snow.  You  see," — 
holding  it  up — "  it's  right  full  of  it,  and  that  busted  the  strings. 
A  dropsical  fiddle  is  no  good,  no  how.  Jist  look  at  the  water 
dripping  oat  of  her." 

Again  the  boys  laughed,  and  the  girls  giggled.    Said  he — 

"Hold  on,  don't  laugh;  it's  no  laughing  matter,  as  you'll 
find." 

After  a  long  pause,  in  which  the  youngsters  tried  thoir  best  to 
look  grave,  he  went  on — 

"Now  all  of  you,  girls  and  boys,  give  your  attention  to  my 
instructions  this  evening.  I'm  goin'  to  Introduce  a  new  style, 
for  your  special  benefit,  called  the  Pest-a-lazy  (Pestalozziy  system, 
now  all  the  fashion.  If  you  are  all  ready,  produce  your  books. 
Hold  them  up.  One — two — three !  Three  books  for  forty 
pupils?  T^«t  will  never  do!  "We  can't  sing  to-night;  well, 
never  mind.  You  see  that  black  board;  I  will  give  you  a  lesson 
to-night  upon  that.    Wlio's  got  a  piece  of  chalk  ?" 

A  negative  shake  of  the  head  from  all.  To  me:  "Chalk's 
scarce  in  these  diggings."  To  the  boys :  "  Wliat,  nobody  got  a 
piece  of  chalk?  That's  unlucky;  a  piece  of  charcoal  out  of  the 
stove  will  do  as  well." 

"  No  'ar  won't,"  roared  out  a  boy  with  a  very  ragged  coat. 
"  They  be  both  the  same  colour." 

"  True,  Jenkins,  for  you ;  go  out  and  get  a  lump  of  snow.  Its 
darnation  strange  if  I  can't  fix  it  somehow." 

"Now,"  thought  I,  "what  is  this  clever  fellow  going  to  do?" 

The  boys  winked  at  each  other,  and  a  Tnurmur  of  sui)pressed 
laughter  ran  tlirough  the  old  church.  Jenkins  ran  out,  and  soon 
returned  with  a  lump  of  snow. 

Mr.  Browne  took  a  small  piece,  and  squeezing  it  tight,  stuck 
it  upon  the  board.  "  Now,  boys,  that  is  Do,  and  that  is  Re,  and 
that  is  Do  again,  and  that  is  Mi,  this  Do,  and  that  Fa;  and  that, 
boys,  is  a  part  of  what  wo  call  a  Bcale^  Tiien  turning  to  a  tall, 
thin,  shabby-looking  man,  very  much  out  at  the  elbows,  whom  I 


I 


:*:i''^   i 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


109 


had  not  seen  before,  he  said — "  Mr.  Smith,  liow  is  your  lose  viol? 
Hav'n't  you  got  it  tuned  up  yet  ?" 

"  Well,  squire,  I  guess  it's  complete." 

"Hold  on;  let  me  see,"  and  taking  a  tuning-fork  from  his 
pocket,  and  giving  it  a  sharp  thump  upon  the  stove,  he  cried  out 
in  a  still  louder  key — "Now,  that's  A;  jist  tune  up  to  A." 

After  Mr.  Smith  had  succeeded  in  tuning  his  instrument,  the 
teacher  proceeded  with  his  lucid  explanations: — "Now,  boys, 
start  fair ;  give  a  grand  chord.  What  sort  of  a  noise  do  you  call 
tliat?  (giving  a  luckless  boy  a  thump  over  the  head  with  his 
fiJdle-stick).  You  bray  through  your  nose  like  a  jackass.  I  tell 
3'ou  to  quit ;  I  don't  want  discord."  The  boy  slunk  out  of  the 
class,  and  stood  blubbering  behind  the  door. 

"Tune  up  again,  young  shavers!  Sing  the  notes  as  I  have 
made  them  on  the  board, — Do,  re-do,  mi,  do-fa.  Now,  when  I 
count  four,  commence.  One — two — three — four.  Sing!  Hold 
on ! — ^liold  on  I  Don't  you  see  th.at  all  the  notes  are  running  off, 
and  you  can't  sing  running  notes  yet." 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  noise  of  some  one  forcing  his 
way  into  the  church,  in  a  very  strange  and  unceremonious  man- 
ner, and 

"  The  chorister's  song,  that  late  was  bo  strong, 
Grew  a  quaver  of  consternation." 

The  door  burst  open,  and  a  ghastly  head  was  protruded  through 
the  aperture.  "A  ghost! — a  ghost!"  shrieked  out  all  the  chil- 
dren in  a  breath;  and  jumping  over  the  forms,  they  huddled 
around  the  stove,  upsetting  the  solitary  tallow  candle,  the  desk, 
and  the  bass  viol,  in  their  fliglit.  One  lad  sprang  right  upon  the 
unfortunate  instrument,  which  broke  to  pieces  with  a  terrible 
crash.  We  were  now  left  in  the  dark.  The  girls  screamed,  and 
clung  round  me  for  protection,  Avhile  the  ghastly  apparition  con- 
tinued to  stare  upon  us  through  the  gloom,  with  its  large,  hollow 
eyes.  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  rather  queer ;  but  I  wisely  kept 
my  fears  to  myself,  while  I  got  as  far  from  the  door  as  I  possibly 
could.  Just  as  our  terror  had  reached  a  climax,  the  grizzly 
phantom  uttered  a  low,  whining  neigh. 


no 


LIFE    IN   THB   CLBARINOS. 


i 


"  It's  the  old  marol  I'll  bo  darned  if  it  isn't!"  cried  one  of 
the  older  boys,  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  Tliia  restored  confidence 
to  the  rest ;  and  one  rather  bolder  than  his  comrades  at  lengtlx 
ventured  to  relight  the  fallen  candle  at  the  stove,  and  holding  it 
uj),  displayed  to  our  view  the  old  white  mare,  standing  in  the 
doorway.  The  poor  beast  had  forced  her  way  into  the  porch  to 
protect  herself  from  the  cold ;  and  she  looked  at  her  master,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I  have  a  standing  account  against  you."  No 
doubt  she  would  have  been  highly  tickled,  could  she  have  known 
that  her  sudden  intrusion  had  been  the  means  of  shortening  her 
term  of  probation  by  at  least  half  an  hour,  and  of  bringing  the 
singing-school  to  a  close.  She  had  been  the  innocent  caase  of 
disabling  both  the  musical  instruments,  and  Mr.  Browne  could 
not  raise  a  correct  note  without  thom.  Turning  to  his  pupils, 
with  a  very  rueful  countenance,  and  speaking  in  a  very  unmusical 
voice,  but  very  expressive  withal,  he  said — "Chore  (meaning 
choir),  you  are  dismissed.  But,  hold  on ! — don't  be  in  sucli  a 
darnation  hurry  to  be  oif.    I  was  a-going  to  tell  you,  this  ere 

gentleman,  Mr.  H (my  name,  for  a  wonder,  popping  into  his 

head  at  that  minute)  is  to  give  a  con-sort  to-morrow  night.  It 
was  to  have  been  to-night;  but  he  changed  his  mind,  tliat  he 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you.     I  shall  assist  Mr. 

II in  the  singing  department;  so  you  must  all  be  sure  to 

cum.  Tickets  for  boys  over  ten  years,  twenty-five  cents ;  under 
ten,  twelve  and  a  half  cents.  So  you  leetle  chaps  will  know  what 
to  do.  The  next  time  the  school  meets  will  be  when  the  fiddles 
are  fixed.  Now  scamper."  The  children  were  not  long  in  obey- 
ing tlie  order.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  they  were  oflr,  and  wo 
heard  them  shouting  and  skylarking  in  the  Jane. 

"  Oum,  Mr.  H ^,"  said  the  music-master,  buttoning  his  great- 
coat up  to  his  chin,  "  let  us  be  a-goin'." 

On  reaching  the  spot  where  we  had  left  the  cutter,  to  our 
great  disappointment,  we  found  only  one-half  of  it  remaining ; 
the  other  half,  broken  to  pieces,  strewed  the  ground.  Mr. 
Browne  detained  me  for  another  half-hour,  in  gathering  together 
the  fragments.  "  Now  you,  Mr.  Smith,  yor.  take  care  of  the 
crippled  fiddles,  whUe  I  take  caro  of  the  bag  of  oats.  The  old 
mare  has  been  trying  to  hook  them  out  of  the  cutter,  which  baa 


i  I 


'W 


z^;  I 


UFB   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


Ill 


I 


been  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble.    You,  Mr.  H ,  mount  up 

on  the  old  jade,  and  take  along  the  bull's  hide,  and  wo  will  fol- 
low on  foot." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "aud  glad  of  the  chance;  for  I  am  cold  and 
tired." 

Not  knowing  a  stop  of  the  way,  I  let  Mr.  Browne  and  his 
companion  go  a-head ;  and  making  a  sort  of  pack-saddle  of  the 
old  hide,  I  curled  myself  up  on  the  back  of  the  old  mare,  and 
left  her  to  her  own  pace,  which,  however,  was  a  pretty  round 
trot,  until  we  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  Avhere,  dis- 
mounting, I  thanked  my  companions,  very  insincerely  I'm  afraid, 
for  my  evening's  amusement,  and  joined  ray  friends  at  the  hotel, 
who  were  never  tired  of  hearing  me  recount  my  adventures  at 
the  singing-school. 

I  had  been  obliged  to  postpone  my  own  concert  until  the  next 
evening,  for  I  found  the  borrowed  piano  such  a  poor  one,  and  so 
miserably  out  of  tune,  that  it  took  me  several  hours  to  render  it 
at  all  fit  for  service.  Before  I  had  concluded  my  task,  I  was 
favoured  with  the  company  of  Mr.  Browne,  who  stuck  to  me 
closer  than  a  brother,  never  allowing  me  out  of  his  sight  for  a 
moment.  This  persevering  attention,  so  little  in  unison  with  my 
feelings,  caused  me  the  most  insufferable  annoyance.  A  thous- 
and times  I  was  on  the  point  of  dismissing  him  very  unceremoni- 
ously, by  informing  him  that  I  thought  him  a  most  conceited, 
impertinent  puppy ;  but  for  the  sake  of  my  friend  Roberts,  who 
was  in  some  way  related  to  the  fellow,  I  contrived  to  master  my 
anger.  About  four  o'clock  he  jumped  up  from  the  table,  at 
which  he  had  been  lounging  and  sipping  hot  punch  at  my 
expense  for  the  last  hour,  exclaiming — 

"  I  guess  it's  time  for  me  to  see  the  pee-a-ne  carried  up  to  tho 
con-sort  room." 

"It's  all  ready,"  said  I.  "Perhaps,  Mr.  Browne,  you  will 
oblige  me  by  singing  a  pong  before  the  company  arrives,  that  I 
may  judge  how  far  your  style  and  mine  will  agree ;"  for  I  began 
to  have  some  horrible  misgivings  on  the  subject.  "  If  you  will 
step  up  stairs,  I  will  accompany  you  on  the  piano.  I  had  no 
opportunity  of  hearing  you  sing  last  night." 
"No,  no,"  said  he,  with  a  conceited  laugh;  "I  mean  to 


•  ! 


'4 


112 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLKARIN08. 


astonish  you  by  ftnd  by.  I'm  not  ono  of  yonr  common 
amateurs,  no  how.  I  shall  produce  quite  a  sensation  ui)on  your 
audience." 

So  saying,  ho  darted  througli  the  door,  and  left  me  to  finish 
my  arrangements  for  the  night. 

The  hour  appoirited  for  the  concert  at  length  arrived.  It  was 
a  clear,  frosty  night,  the  moon  shining  as  bright  as  day.  A 
great  number  of  persons  wore  collected  about  tlio  doors  of  the 
hotel,  and  I  had  every  reason  to  expect  a  full  house.  I  wa^ 
giving  some  directions  to  my  door-keeper,  when  I  heard  a 
double  sleigh  approaching  at  an  uncommon  rate;  and  looking 
up  the  road,  I  saw  an  old-fashioned,  high-backed  vehicle,  drawn 
by  two  shabby-looking  horses,  coming  towards  the  hotel  at  full 
gallop.  The  passengers  evidently  thought  that  they  were  too 
late,  and  were  making  up  for  lost  time. 

The  driver  was  an  old  farmer,  and  dressed  in  the  cloth  of  the 
country,  with  a  largo  capote  of  the  saire  material  drawn  over 
his  head  and  weather-beaten  face,  Avhich  left  h  's  sharp  black 
eyes,  red  nose,  and  wide  mouth  alone  visible.  He  flourished  in 
his  hand  a  large  whip  of  raw-hide,  which  ever  and  anon  de- 
scended upon  the  ' tacks  of  his  raw-boned  cattle  like  the  strokes 
of  a  flail. 

"  Get  up — go  along — waye,"  cried  he,  suddenly  drawing  up  at 
the  door  of  the  hotel.  "  Well,  here  we  be  at  last,  and  jist  in 
time  for  the  con-sort."  Then  hitching  the  horses  to  the  post, 
and  flinging  the  buffalo  robes  over  them,  he  left  the  three 
females  he  was  driving  in  the  sleigh,  and  ran  directly  up  to 
me, — "  Arn't  you  the  con-sort  man  ?  I  guess  you  be,  by  them 
ere  black  pants  and  Sunday-goin'  gear." 

I  nodded  assent. 

"What's  the  damage?" 

"Half  a  dollar." 

"  Half  a  dollar  ?    You  don't  mean  to  say  that !" 

"  Not  a  cent  less." 

"  "Well,  it  will  be  expensive.  There's  my  wife  and  two  darters, 
and  myself ;   and  the  gals  never  seed  a  con-sort." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  as  there  are  four  of  you,  you  may  come  in  at 
a  dollar  and  a  half." 


the 
II 
wit 
into 
butt 
and 
pret 
I 
Whf 


LIFE   IN   TUB   CLEARINGS. 


113 


"  How ;  a  dollar  niul  a  harf I  I  will  go  and  have  a  talk  witli 
the  old  woman,  and  hoar  what  she  says  to  it." 

IIo  returned  to  tlio  sleigh,  and  after  chatting  for  a  few  minutes 
with  the  women,  he  helped  them  out,  and  the  four  followed  mo 
into  the  reception  rt)oru  of  the  inn.  The  farmer  placed  a  pail  of 
butter  ou  the  table,  and  said  with  a  shrewd  cufl  of  his  long  nose, 
and  a  wink  from  one  of  his  cunning  black  eyes,  "  There's  some 
pretty  good  butter,  mister." 

I  was  amused  at  the  idea,  and  replied,  "  Pretty  good  hitter  ! 
What  is  that  to  me?    I  do  not  buy  butter." 

"  Not  buy  butter !  Why  you  don't  say !  It  is  the  very  oest 
article  in  the  market  jist  now." 

For  a  bit  of  fun  I  said, — "  Never  mind ;  I  will  take  your  butter. 
What  is  it  worth  ?" 

"  It  was  worth  ten  cents  last  week,  mister ;  I  don't  know  what 
it's  worth  now.    It  can't  have  fallen,  nohow." 

I  took  my  knife  from  my  pocket,  and  in  a  very  business-like 
manner  proceeded  to  taste  the  article.  "Why,"  said  I,  "this 
butter  is  not  good." 

Here  a  sharp-faced  woman  stepped  briskly  up,  and  poking  her 
head  between  us,  said  at  the  highest  pitch  of  her  cracked  voiccf 
— "  Yes,  it  is  good ;  it  was  made  this  morning  express-ly  for  the 
con-8ori." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam.  I  ara  not  in  the  habit  of  buying 
butter.  To  obhgo  you,  I  will  take  this.  How  much  is  there 
of  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.     Where  are  your  steelyards?" 
"  Oh,"  said  I  laughing,  "  I  don't  carry  such  things  with  rao. 
I  will  take  it  at  your  own  valuation,  and  you  may  go  in  with 
your  family." 

"'Tis  a  bargain,"  says  he.  "Go  in,  gals,  and  fix  yourselves 
for  the  consort.'''' 

As  the  room  was  fast  filhng,  I  thought  it  time  to  present  myself 
to  the  company,  and  made  my  entrance,  accompanied  by  that  in- 
corrigible pest,  the  singing-master,  who,  without  the  least  embar- 
rassment, took  his  seat  by  the  piano.  After  singing  several  of 
my  best  songs,  I  invited  him  to  try  his  skill. 


I      ■' 


'H 


h 


114 


LIFE    IN    THE    0LRARIN08. 


"Oh,  certainly,"  said  l»o ;  "To  toll  you  the  truth,  I  am  a  leetle 
Burprised  timt  you  did  not  ask  mo  to  lead  off." 

"I  would  have  done  so;  but  1  could  not  alter  the  arrangomont 
of  the  programme." 

"Ah,  well,  I  excuse  you  this  time,  but  it  was  not  very  polite, 
to  say  the  least  of  it." 

Thcu,  taking  his  scat  at  the  piano  with  as  much  confidence  tin 
IJraham  over  had,  he  run  his  htnd  over  the  keys,  exclaiming 
"  What  shall  I  sing  ?  I  will  give  you  one  of  Russell's  songs ;  tfioy 
Buit  my  voice  best.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  going  to  favor 
you  by  singing  llonry  liussell's  celebrated  song,  "  /^e  to  roam^''^ 
mul  accompany  myself  upon  the  pee-a-ne-forty." 

Tliis  song  is  so  well  known  to  most  of  my  readers,  that  I  can 
describe  his  manner  of  singing  it  without  repeating  the  whole  of 
the  words.  lie  struck  the  instrument  in  i)laying  with  such  vio- 
lence that  it  shook  his  whole  body,  and  produced  the  following 
ludicrous  effect : — 


*'  Some  lovo  to  ro-o-o-a-mo 
O'er  the  dark  sea  fo-o-ome, 

Where  the  shlll  wuuls  whistle  fre-c-c-c ; 
But  a  cho-o-aen  ba-a-and  in  a  mountain  la-a-a-and, 
And  life  in  the  woo-o-ds  for  me-c-e." 

This  performance  was  drowned  in  an  uproar  of  laughter,  which 
brought  our  vocalist  to  a  sudden  stop. 

"I  won't  sing  another  line  if  you  keep  up  that  infernal  noise," 
the  roared  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  When  a  fellow  does  his  best 
he  expects  his  audience  to  appreciate  his  performance ;  but  I  allers 

he'rd  as  how  the  folks  at  W knew  nothing  about  music." 

Oh,  do  stop,"  exclaimed  an  old  woman,  rising  from  her  seat, 
and  shaking  her  fist  at  the  unruly  company, — "  can't  yee's ;  ho 
do  sing  iutiful]  and  his  voice  in  the  winds  do  sound  so  natural, 
I  could  almost  hear  them  an  'owling.  It  minds  me  of  old  times, 
it  dew." 

This  voluntary  tribute  to  Ms  genius  seemed  to  console  and  re- 
assure the  singing  master,  and,  stemming  with  his  stentorian 
voice  the  torrent  of  mistimed  mirth,  he  sang  his  song  triumph- 


LIFE   IN   TnE   CIKARIN09. 


116 


antly  to  tho  ond;   nn*l  tho  clapping  of  linnds,  Btfttnping  of  foot 
and  knocking  of  beuchcH,  were  truly  doafoniug. 

'*  "W  hut  will  you  have  now  ?"  cried  he.  "  I  thought  you  would 
comprehend  good  singing  at  last." 

"  Givo  them  a  oomio  song,"  said  I,  in  a  whisper. 

"  A  comio  song  !  (aloud)    Do  you  think  that  I  would  waato  my 
talents  in  singing  trash  that  any  jackass  could  hray  ?    No,  sirrn, 
my  stylo  is  purely  sentimental.    I  will  give  the  ladies  and  gontle- 
(  men  tho  "/ry  Oreen.^^ 

Tie  sang  this  beantifid  original  Borg,  which  is  decidedly  Rus- 
f^cll's  best,  much  in  the  same  style  as  the  former  one;  but 
getting  a  littlo  used  to  his  eccentricities,  wo  contrived  to  keep 
our  gravity  until  ho  came  to  tho  chorus,  "  Creeping,  creeping, 
creeping,"  for  which  ho  substituted,  "  crawling,  crawling,  crawl- 
ing," when  he  was  again  interrupted  by  such  a  burst  of  merri- 
ment that  he  was  unable  to  crawl  any  further. 

"Well,"  said  he,  rising;   "if  you  won't  behave,  I  will  leave 

— ,  and  make  ono  of  tho  audience.'' 


the  instrument  to  Mr.  II 

lie  had  scarcely  taken  his  seat,  when  the  farmer  from  whom 
I  had  bought  the  butter  forced  his  way  up  to  tho  piano.  Says 
he,  "There's  that  pail;  it  is  worth  ten  cents  and  a  half.  You 
must  either  pay  the  money,  or  give  me  back  tho  pail.  (Hitching 
up  his  nether  garments) — I  s'pose  you'll  do  the  thing  that's 
right?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  there  are  twelve  and  a  half  cents." 

"  I  haven't  change,"  said  he,  with  a  knoAving  look. 

"  So  much  tho  better ;  keep  tho  difference." 

"  Then  wo'ro  square,  mistor,"  and  ho  sank  back  into  his 
place. 

"  Did  he  pay  you  the  money  ?"  I  hoard  tho  wife  ask  in  an 
anxious  tone. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  more  than  tho  old  pail  was  worth  by  a  long  chalk. 
I'd  like  to  deal  with  that  chap  allcrs." 

I  now  proceeded  with  the  concert.  Tlie  song  of  tho  drown- 
ing child  saved  by  the  Newfoundland  dog,  drew  down  thunders 
of  applause.  When  the  clamour  had  a  little  subsided,  a  tall  man 
rose  from  his  seat  at  tho  upper  end  of  the  room,  and,  after  clear- 
ing his  throat  with  several  loud  hems,  he  thus  addressed  me, — 


r  -f 


■ut^'a'BK! 


116 


lAFR    IN    THE    CLBAKINOS. 


"llow  do  you  do,  Mr.  II ?  I  nin  f^lad,  sir,  to  tnnko  your 

ncqiiftintanco.  Tlii.s  in  my  friend,  Mr.  Derby,"  drawing  another 
tall  man  conspicuously  forward  before  all  the  spectators.  ''  Fo, 
tow,  is  very  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance.  We  both  want 
know  if  that  dog  you  have  been  Hinging  about  belongs  to  you. 
If  so,  we  should  bo  glad  to  buy  a  i)up."  He  gravely  took  his 
seat,  amid  perfect  yells  of  applause.  It  was  impossible  to  bo 
hoard  in  such  a  riot,  and  I  closed  the  adventures  of  the  evening 
by  giving  out  "  '  Hail,  Columbia,'  to  bo  sung  by  all  present." 
This  Jinale  gave  universal  satisfaction,  and  the  voice  of  my  friend 
the  singing-master  might  be  heard  far  above  the  rest. 

I  was  forced,  in  common  i)olitenes8,  to  invite  Mr.  Browne  to 
])artake  of  the  oyster  supper  I  had  provided  for  my  friends 

from    W .    "Will  you  join  our  party  this  evening,   Mr. 

BrowDe  ?" 

"Oh,  by  all  manner  of  moans,"  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands 
together  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  of  anticipation  ;  "  I  knew  that  you 
would  do  the  thing  handsome  at  last.  I  have  not  tasted  an  i'ster 
since  I  sang  at  Niblo's  in  Now  York.  But  did  we  not  come  on 
famously  at  the  con-sort  f  Confess,  now,  that  I  beat  you  holler. 
You  sing  j)Tctty  well,  but  you  want  confidence.  You  don't  give 
expression  enough  to  your  voice.  The  applause  "which  followed 
my  first  song  was  tremendous." 

"  I  never  lieard  anything  like  it,  Mr.  Browne.  I  never  expect 
to  merit  such  marks  of  pubhc  approbation." 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  leetle  friend,"  returned  ho,  clapping  mo 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder.  "Kome  was  not  built  in  a  dii^^,  and 
you  are  a  young  man — a  very  young  man — and  very  small  for 
your  age.  Your  voico  will  never  have  the  volume  and  compass 
of  mine.  But  I  smell  the  i'sters:  let's  in,  for  I'm  tarnation 
b  ngry." 

Gentle  reader!  you  would  have  thought  so  to  have  seen  him 
eat.  My  companions  looked  rather  disconcerted  at  the  rapiuity 
with  which  they  disappeared  within  his  capacious  jaws.  After 
satisfying  his  enormous  appetite,  he  washed  down  the  oysters 
with  long  draughts  of  porter,  until  his  brain  becoming  affected, 
ho  swung  his  huge  body  back  in  his  cliair,  and,  placing  his  feet 
on  the  supper-table,  began  singing  in  good  earnest, — not  ono 


' 


LIFK    IN    TIIK    CLBAHINOR. 


117 


k>  n. 


Mr. 


Honp  in  particulftr,  but  n  mixturo  of  all  thftt  had  nppoarcd  in  tho 
most  popular  Yuiikeo  song  books  for  tlie  last  ton  years. 

I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  specimen  of  tho  sublimo  and  tlio 
ridiculous,  thus  unceromoniously  huddled  together.  Tho  clleot 
was  so  irresistible,  when  contrasted  with  tho  grave  exterior  ot 
the  man,  tluit  wo  laughed  until  our  sides  ached  at  his  absurdities. 
Exhausted  by  his  constant  vociferations,  the  musician  at  length 
dropped  from  his  chair  in  a  drunken  sleep  upon  the  floor,  and 
wo  carried  him  into  tho  next  room  and  put  him  to  bed ;  and, 
after  talking  over  tho  events  of  tho  evening,  we  retired  about 
midnight  to  our  respective  chambers,  "which  all  opened  into  tho 
great  room  in  which  I  held  the  concert. 

About  two  o'clock  in  tho  morning  my  sleep  was  disturbed  by 
tho  most  dismal  cries  and  groans,  which  appeared  to  issue  from 
tho  adjoining  apartment.  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  and  sat  up  in  tho 
bed  and  listened,  when  I  recognised  tJio  well-known  voice  of 
the  singing  master,  exclaiming  in  tones  of  agony  and  fear — 
"Landlord!  landlord!  cum  quick.  Somebody  cum.  Landlord! 
landlord !  there's  a  man  under  my  bed.  Oh,  Lord !  I  sball  bo 
murdered !  a  man  under  ray  bed ! " 

As  I  am  not  fond  of  such  nocturnal  visitors  myself,  not  being 
much  gifted  with  physical  strength  or  courage,  I  listened  a  mo- 
ment to  hear  if  any  one  was  coming.  The  sound  of  approach- 
ing footsteps  along  tho  passage  greatly  aided  the  desperate 
effort  I  made  to  leave  my  comfortable  pillow,  and  proceed  to 
the  scone  of  action.  At  the  chamber  door  I  met  tho  landlord, 
armed  with  the  fire-tongs  and  a  light 

"  What's  all  this  noise  about?"  he  cried  in  an  angry  tone. 

I  assured  him  that  I  vioa  as  ignorant  as  himself  of  tho  cause 
of    the    disturbance.      Here  the  singing  master  again  sung 

out — 
"Landlord!  landlord!  there's  a  man  under  the  hed.    Cum! 

somebody  cum!" 
We  immediately  entered  his  room,  and  were  joined  by  two  of 

my  friends  from  W .    Seeing  our  party  strengthened  to  four, 

our  courage  rose  amazingly,  and  we  talked  loudly  of  making 
mincemeat  of  the  intruder,  kicking  him  down  stairs,  and  tortur- 
ing him  in  every  way  we  could  devise.    We  found  the  singing 


Nl 


?!*'i»."'i'*''!»*JiiVi'|imi>jiHMi ■LluMi  '«»- 


118 


LIFE   IN   THB   CLEARINGS. 


I, 

i'V 

■1  * 


.  ^! 


master  sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  bed,  his  small-clothoa  gathered 
up  under  his  arm  ready  for  a  start ;  his  face  as  pale  as  a  slicet, 
Ills  teeth  chattering,  and  his  whole  appearance  indicative  of  the 
most  abject  fear.  Wo  certainly  did  hear  very  mysterious  sounds 
issuing  from  beneath  the  bed,  which  caused  the  boldest  of  us  to 
draw  back. 

"  He  is  right,"  said  Roberts ;  "  there  is  some  one  under 
the  bed." 

"  What  a  set  of  confounded  cowards  you  are!"  cried  the  laud- 
lurd  ;  "  can't  you  lift  the  valance  and  see  what  it  is  ?" 

He  made  no  effort  himself  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  ilie  alarm, 
lioberts,  who,  after  all,  was  the  boldest  man  of  the  party,  seized 
the  tongs  from  the  landlord,  and,  kneeling  cautiously  down, 
slowly  raised  the  drapery  that  siu-rounded  the  bed.  "  Hold  the 
light  here,  landlord."  lie  did  so,  but  at  arm's  length.  Roberts 
peeped  timidly  into  the  dark  void  beyond,  dropped  the  valance, 
and  looked  up  with  a.  comical,  quizzing  expression,  and  began 
to  laugh. 

"  What  is  it?"  we  all  cried  in  a  breath. 

" Landlord!  landlord'-"  he  cried,  imitating  the  vo'cc  o^  the 
pinging  master,  "  cum  quick  1  Somebody  cum !  There's  a  dog 
under  tlie  bed  1  Ho  will  bite  mo!  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  I  shall 
die  of  hydrophobia.    I  shall  bo  smothered  in  a  feather-bed!" 

"  A  dog  1"  said  the  landlord. 

"  A  dog !"  cried  we  all. 

"  Aye,  a  black  dog." 

"You  don't  say  !"  cried  the  singing  master,  springing  from  his 
bed.  "  Where  is  he?  I'm  able  for  him  any  liow."  And  seizing 
a  corn  broom  that  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  he  began  to 
poke  at  the  poor  animal,  and  belabour*liim  in  the  most  uumcrci- 
ful  manner. 

The  dog,  who  belonged  to  a  drover  who  penned  his  cattle  in 
the  inn-yard  for  the  night,  wishing  to  find  a  comfortable  domi- 
cile, had  taken  a  private  survey  of  the  premises  when  the  people 
were  out  of  the  way,  and  made  his  quarters  under  Mr.  Browne's 
bed.  When  that  worthy  commenced  snoring,  the  dog,  to  signify 
his  approbation  at  finding  himself  in  the  company  of  some  one, 
amused  himself  by  hoisting  his  tail  up  and  down ;  now  striking 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


119 


the  sacking  of  the  bed,  and  now  tapping  audibly  against  the 
floor.  Tlicse  mysterious  salutations  became,  at  length,  so  fre- 
quent aud  vehement  that  they  awoke  the  sleeper,  who,  not 
daring  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  alarm,  aroused  the  wliole 
house  with  his  clamours. 

Mr.  Browne  finding  himself  unable  to  thrash  the  poor  brute 
out  of  his  retreat,  and  having  become  all  of  a  sudden  very  brave, 
crawled  under  the  bed  and  dragged  the  dog  out  by  his  hind 
legs. 

"  You  see  I'm  enough  for  him ;  give  me  the  poker,  and  I'll 
beat  out  his  brains." 

"  You'll  do  no  such  thing,  sir,"  said  the  landlord,  turning  the 
animal  down  the  stairs.  "The  dog  belongs  to  a  quiet  decent 
fellow,  and  a  good  customer,  and  he  shall  meet  with  no  ill  usage 
here.  "  Your  mountain,  Mr.  BroAvne,  has  brought  forth  a 
mouse." 

"A  dog,  sir,"  quoth  the  singing  master,  not  in  the  least 
^  i  abashed  by  the  reproof.     "  If  the  brute  had  cut  up  such  a  dido 

under  your  bed,  you  would  have  been  as  'tumal  skeared  as  I 
was." 

"Perhaps,  Mr.  Browne,"  said  I,  "you  took  it  for  the  ghost  of 
the  old  mare  ?" 

"Ghost  or  no  ghost,"  returned  the  landlord,  "he  has  given 
us  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  nearly  frightened  himself  into 
fits." 

"The  fear  was  not  all  on  my  side,"  eaid  the  indignant  vocal 
ist ;  "  and  I  look  upon  you  aa  the  cause  of  the  whole  trouble." 

"As  how?" 

"  If  the  dog  had  not  cum  to  your  house,  he  never  would  liavo 
found  his  way  under  my  bed.  When  I  pay  for  my  night's  lodg- 
ing, I  don't  expect  to  Iiavo  to  share  it  with  a  strange  dog — no 
how." 

So  saying  he  retreated,  grumbling,  back  to  his  bed,  and  wo 
gladly  followed  his  example. 

I  rose  early  in  the  morning  to  accompany  my  friends  to 

W .    At  the  door  of  the  hotel  I  was  accosted  by  Mi*. 

Browne — 

"Why,  you  arn't  goin'  to  start  without  bidding  me  good- 


iL>*i»aj»iy>ii,ajiiiiiw.>iiiiiu«ii. .''■■-■■«»■" 


120 


LIFE    IN   THE    OLEARINGS. 


bye  ?  BeBides,  you  have  not  paid  me  for  iny  assistance  at  the 
con-sort.''^ 

I  literally  8tai\,ed  with  surprise  at  this  unexpected  demand. 
*'Do  you  expect  a  professional  price  for  your  services?" 

"  "Well,  I  guess  the  con-sort  would  have  been  nothing  without 
my  help ;  but  I  won't  be  hard  upon  you,  as  you  are  a  young 
beginner,  and  not  hkely  to  make  your  fortune  in  that  hne  any 
how.  There's  that  pail  of  butter;  if  you  don't  mean  to  take  it 
along,  I'll  take  that;  we  wants  butter  to  hum.    Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  if  you  are  satisfied,  I  am  well  pleased."  (I  could 
have  added,  to  get  rid  of  you  at  any  price.)  "  You  will  find  it 
on  the  table  in  the  hall." 

"  Not  exactly ;  I  took  it  hum  this  morning — I  thought  how  it 

would  end.    Good-bye  to  you,  Mr.  H .    If  ever  you  come 

this  way  again,  I  shall  be  happy  to  lend  you  my  assistance." 

I  never  visited  that  part  of  the  country  since,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Mr.  Browne  is  busy  in  his  vocation,  and  flatter- 
iDg  himself  that  he  is  one  of  the  first  vocalists  in  the  Union.  I 
think  he  should  change  his  residence,  and  settle  down  for  life  in 
New  Harmony. 

TO  ADELAIDE,* 

A  BEAUTIFUL  YOUNG  CANADIAN  LADY. 


"  Yes,  thou  art  young,  and  passing  fair ; 

But  time,  that  bids  all  blossoms  fade, 
Will  rob  thee  of  the  rich  and  rare ; 

Then  list  to  me,  sweet  Adelaide. 
He  steals  the  snow  from  polish'd  brow, 

From  soft  bewitching  eyes  the  blue, 
From  smiling  lips  their  ruby  glow. 

From  velvet  cheeks  their  rosy  hue. 

"  Oh,  who  shall  check  the  spoiler's  power  ? 
'Tis  more  than  conqueriug  love  may  dare ; 
He  flutters  round  youth's  summer  bower, 
And  reigns  o'er  hearts  like  summer  fair. 

*  The  daughter  of  Colonel  Coleman,  of  BelleTille ;  noT7  Mrs.  EastoD. 


TV 

sighi 
shor 
glide 
adva 
tbe^ 
watc 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 

He  baaks  himself  in  sunny  eyes,        *' 

Hides  'mid  bright  locks,  and  dimpled  smiles  ; 

From  age  he  spreads  his  wings  and  flies, — 
Forgets  soft  vows,  and  pretty  wiles. 

**  The  charms  of  mind  are  ever  young, 

Their  beauty  never  owns  decay ; 
The  fairest  form  by  poet  sung. 

Before  their  power  must  fade  away. 
The  mind  immortal  wins  from  time 

Fresh  beauties  as  its  years  advance  ; 
Its  flowers  bloom  fresh  in  every  clime — 

They  cannot  yield  to  change  and  chance. 

"  E'en  over  love's  capricious  boy 

They  hold  an  undiminish'd  sway  ; 
For  chill  and  storm  can  ne'er  destroy 

The  blos.soms  of  eternal  day. 
Then  deem  these  charms,  sweet  Adelaide, 

The  brightest  gems  in  beauty's  zone  : 
Make  these  thine  own, — all  others  fade  j 

They  live  when  youth  aad  grace  are  flown." 


121 


CHAPTER  VII. 

♦«  On — on ! — for  ever  brightly  on. 
Thy  lucid  waves  are  flowing ; 
Thy  waters  sparkle  as  they  run, 
Their  long,  long  journey  going." 

S.  M. 

Wk  havo  rounded  Ox  Point,  and  Belleville  is  no  longer  in 
sight.  The  steamboat  has  struck  into  mid  channel,  and  the  bold 
shores  of  the  Prince  Edward  district  are  before  us.  Calmly  wo 
glide  on,  and  islands  and  headlands  seem  to  recede  from  us  as  wo 
advance ;  and  now  they  are  far  in  the  distance,  half  seen  through 
tbe  warm  purple  haze  that  rests  so  dreamily  upon  woods  and 
waters.    Heaven  is  above  us,  and  another  heaven — more  soft, 

6 


v.'M'iiS^'  Bffi*!!!J*'.y 


^ssss 


122 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


if:. 


and  not  less  beautiful — lies  mirrored  beneath;  and  witbin  tliat 
heavcQ  are  traced  exquisite  forms  of  earth — trees,  and  fluwei's, 
and  verdant  slopes,  and  bold  bills,  and  barren  rugged  rocks. 
The  scene  is  one  of  surpassing  loveliness,  and  "vve  open  our  heart?! 
to  receive  its  sweet  influences,  while  our  eyes  rest  upon  '*-  Avith 
intense  delight,  and  the  inner  voice  of  the  soul  whispers — God  is 
here!  Dost  thou  not  catch  the  reflection  of  his  glory  in  tlil.s 
superb  picture  of  Nature's  own  painting,  while  the  harmony  that 
surrounds  his  throne  is  faintly  echoed  by  the  warm  balmy  wind 
that  stirs  the  lofty  branches  of  the  woods,  and  the  waves  that 
swell  and  break  in  gentle  undulations  against  these  rocky  isles  ? 

"  So  smiled  the  heavens  upon  the  vestal  earth, 
The  morn  she  rose  exulting  from  her  bu"th ; 
A  living  harmony,  a  perfect  plan 
Of  power  and  beauty,  ere  the  rebel  man 
Defiled  with  sin,  and  stam'd  with  kindred  blood, 
The  paradise  his  God  pronounced  as  good." 

That  rugged  point  to  the  left  contains  a  fine  quarry  of  limestone, 
which  supplies  excellent  building  materials.  The  stones  arc 
brought  by  the  means  of  a  scow,  a  very  broad  flac-bottomed 
boat,  to  ]?ollevilIe,  where  they  are  sawn  into  sipuire  blocks,  and 
dressed  for  door  sills  and  facings  of  houses.  A  little  further  on, 
the  Salmon  river  discharges  its  waters  into  the  bay,  and  on  its 
shores  the  village  of  Shaunonville  has  risen,  as  if  by  magic, 
within  a  very  few  years.  Three  schooners  are  just  now  an- 
chored at  its  mouth,  receiving  cargoes  of  sawn  lumber  to  carry 
over  to  Asmego.  The  timber  is  supplied  from  the  largo  mill,  tho 
din  of  whoso  machinery  can  be  heard  distinctly  at  this  distance. 
Lumber  forms,  at  present,  the  chief  article  of  export  from  this 
place.  Upwards  of  one  million  of  sawn  lumber  was  shipped 
from  this  embryo  town  during  the  past  year. 

Shannonville  owes  its  present  flourishing  prospects  to  tho 
energy  and  enterprise  of  a  few  individuals,  who  saw  at  a  glance 
its  capabilities,  and  purchased  for  a  few  hundred  pounds  the  site 
of  a  town  which  is  now  worth  as  many  thousands.  The  steam- 
boats do  not  touch  at  Shannonville,  in  their  trips  to  and  from 
Kingston.    The  mouth  of  the  river  is  too  narrow  to  adrjit  a 


:i  arc 
ttomcil 

3,  ami 
ler  on, 

on  it:i 


to  tlio 
glanoo 
lie  site 
steam- 
l1  from 
dijit  a 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


123 


larger  vessel  than  a  schooner,  but  as  tlie  place  increases,  wharfs 
will  bo  built  at  its  entrance  into  the  bay. 

On  tlie  road  leading  from  Belleville  to  this  i)laco,  which  is  in 
the  direct  route  to  Kingston,  there  is  a  large  tract  of  plain  land 
which  is  still  uncultivated.  The  soil  is  sandy,  and  the  trees  are 
low  and  far  apart,  a  natural  grow^th  of  short  grass  and  Uowcring 
shrubs  giving  it  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  park.  Clumps 
of  butternut,  and  hickory  trees,  form  picturcs(pie  groups ;  and 
herds  of  cattle  belonging  to  the  settlers  in  the  vicinity,  roam  at  large 
over  these  [dains  that  sweep  down  to  the  water's  edge.  This  is 
a  very  favorite  resort  of  summer  parties,  as  you  can  drive  light 
carriages  in  all  directions  over  tliis  elevated  platform.  It  used 
formerly  to  bo  a  chosen  spot  for  camp-meetings,  and  all  the 
piously  disposed  camo  hither  to  listen  to  the  preachers,  and  "  get 
religion^ 

I  never  witnessed  one  of  these  meetings,  but  an  old  lady  gave 
me  a  very  graphic  description  of  one  of  them  that  was  held  on 
this  spot  some  thirty  years  ago.  There  were  no  churches  in 
Belleville  then,  and  the  travelling  Methodist  ministers  used  to 
pitch  their  tents  on  these  plains,  and  preach  night  and  day  to  all 
goers  and  comers.  A  pulpit,  formed  of  rough  slabs  of  wood, 
Avas  erected,  in  a  conveniently  open  spaco  among  the  trees,  and 
they  took  it  by  turns  to  read,  exhort,  and  pray,  to  the  dwellers 
in  the  Avilderness.  At  night  they  kindled  largo  fires,  which 
served  both  for  light  and  warmth,  and  enabled  the  pilgrims  to 
this  sylvan  sluino  to  cook  their  food,  and  attend  to  the  wants  of 
their  little  ones.  Large  booths,  made  of  the  boughs  of  trees, 
sheltered  the  worshippers  from  the  heat  of  the  sun  during  the 
day,  or  from  the  occasional  showers  produced  by  some  passing 
thunder  cloud  at  night. 

"  Our  bush  farm,"  said  my  friend,  "happened  to  bo  near  the 
spot,  and  I  went  with  a  young  girl,  a  friend  and  neighbour,  partly 
out  of  curiosity  and  partly  out  of  fun,  to  liear  the  preaching.  It 
was  the  middle  of  July,  but  the  weather  was  unusually  wet  for 
that  time  of  year,  and  every  tent  and  booth  was  crowded  with 
men,  women,  and  children,  all  huddled  together  to  keep  out  of 
the  rain.  Most  of  these  tents  exhibited  some  extraordinay  scene 
of  fanaticism  and  religious  enthusiasm ;  the  noise  and  confusion 


11 


n 


i? 


h 


124 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


4 

U  ♦ 


iii4 

:1  ill- 


were  deafening.  Men  were  preaching  at  the  very  top  of  their 
voice ;  women  were  shrieking  and  groaning,  beating  their  breasts 
and  tearing  their  hair,  while  others  were  uttering  the  most  fran- 
tic outcries,  which  they  called  ejaculatory  prayers.  One  thought 
possessed  me  all  the  time,  that  the  whole  assembly  wore  mad, 
and  that  they  imagined  God  to  be  deaf,  and  tliat  ho  could  not 
hear  them  without  their  making  this  shocking  noise.  It  would 
appear  to  you  like  the  grossest  blasphemy  wore  I  to  repeat  to  you 
some  of  their  exclamations ;  but  one  or  two  wore  so  absurdly 
ridiculous,  that  I  cannot  help  giving  them  as  I  heard  them. 

"  One  young  woman,  after  lying  foaming  and  writhing  upon 
tlio  ground,  like  a  creature  possessed,  sprang  up  several  feet  into 
the  air,  exclaiming,  'I  have  got  it!  I  have  got  it!  I  have  got  it!' 
To  which  others  responded — 'Keep  it!  keep  it!  keep  it!'  I 
asked  a  bystander  what  slie  meant.  Ho  replied, '  She  has  got  reli- 
gion. It  is  the  Spirit  that  is  speaking  in  her.'  I  felt  too  much 
shocked  to  laugh  out,  yet  could  scarcely  retain  my  gravity. 

"  Passing  by  one  of  the  tents,  I  saw  a  very  fat  w^oman  lying  up- 
on a  bench  on  her  face,  uttering  the  most  dismal  groans,  while 
two  well-fed,  sleek-looking  ministers,  in  rusty  black  coats  and 
very  dirty-looking  white  chokers,  Avere  drumming  upon  her  fat 
back  witli  their  fists,  exclaiming — '  Hero's  glory !  here's  glory, 
my  friends !  Satan  is  departing  out  of  this  woman.  Hallelujah !' 
This  spectacle  was  too  shocking  to  provoke  a  smile. 

"  There  was  a  young  lady  dressed  in  a  very  nice  silk  gown. 
Silk  was  a  very  scarce  and  expensive  article  in  those  days.  The 
poor  girl  got  dreadfully  excited,  and  was  about  to  fling  herself 
down  upon  the  wet  grass,  to  show  the  depth  of  her  humility  and 
contrition,  when  she  suddenly  remembered  the  precious  silk 
dress,  and  taking  a  shawl  of  less  value  from  her  shoulders,  care- 
fully spread  it  over  the  wet  ground. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  one  had  a 
deal  to  learn  at  that  camp-meeting.  A  number  of  those  people 
knew  no  more  what  they  were  about  than  persons  in  a  dream. 
They  worked  themselves  up  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy,  because  they 
saw  others  carried  away  by  the  same  spirit ;  and  they  seemed  to 
try  which  could  make  the  most  noise,  and  throw  themselves  in- 
to the  most  unnatural  positions,     few  of  them  carried  the  reli- 


i 


5 ,' 

i',  S 


LIFB   IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


i2r> 


upon 


i)  I 


gioas  zoal  they  raftnifcstcd  in  such  a  strange  way  at  that  meet- 
ing, into  their  own  homos.  Before  the  party  broke  up  it  was 
forgotten,  and  they  were  laughing  and  cliatting  about  their  worldly 
aftairs.  The  young  lads  were  sparking  the  girls,  and  the  girls 
laughing  and  tiirting  with  them.  I  remarked  to  an  old  farmer, 
who  was  reckoned  a  very  pious  man,  '  that  such  conduct,  in  per- 
sons who  had  just  been  in  a  state  of  despair  about  their  sins,  was 
very  inconsistent,  to  say  the  least  of  it ;'  and  ho  replied  with  a 
sanctimonious  smile — '  It  is  ouly  the  Lord's  lambs  playing  with 
each  other.' " 

Those  camp-meetings  seldom  take  place  near  largo  towns, 
where  the  people  have  the  benefit  of  a  resident  minister,  but 
they  still  occur  on  the  borders  of  civilization,  and  present  the 
same  disorderly  mixture  of  fanaticism  and  vanity. 

More  persons  go  for  a  frolic  than  to  obtain  any  S[iiritual  bene- 
fit. In  illustration  of  this,  I  -will  tell  you  a  story  which  a  very 
beautiful  young  married  lady  told  to  me  with  much  glee ;  for  the 
thing  happened  to  herself,  and  she  was  the  principal  actor  in  the 
scene. 

"  I  had  an  aunt,  the  wife  of  a  very  wealthy  yeoman,  who  lived 

in  one  of  the  back  townships  of  C ,  on  the  St.  Lawrence. 

She  was  a  very  pious  and  hospitable  woman,  and  none  knew  it 
better  than  the  travelling  ministers,  who  were  always  well  fed 
and  well  lodged  at  her  house,  particularly  wlien  they  assembled 
to  hold  a  camp-mooting,  which  took  place  once  in  several  years 
in  that  neighbourhood. 

"  I  was  a  girl  of  fifteen,  and  was  staying  with  my  aunt  for  the 
benefit  of  the  country-air,  when  one  of  these  great  gatherings 
took  place.  Having  heard  a  great  deal  about  their  strange  do- 
ings at  these  meeMngs,  I  begged  very  hard  to  bo  allowed  to 
make  one  of  the  spectators.  My  aunt,  who  knew  what  a  merry, 
light-hearted  creature  I  was,  demurred  for  some  time  before  slio 
granted  my  request. 

"  'If  the  child  does  not  get  rclujion^^  she  said,  'she  will  turn  it 
all  into  fun,  and  it  will  do  her  more  harm  than  good.' 

"Aunt  was  right  enough  in  her  conjectures;  but  still  she 
entertained  a  latent  hope,  that  the  zeal  of  the  preachers,  the 
excitement  of  the  scene,  and  the  powerful  influence  produced  by 


I A 


120 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


w 


I    4^' 


tho  example  of  the  pious,  might  have  a  beneficial  clTect  on  my 
young  mind,  and  lead  to  my  conversion.  Aunt  liad  liorsolf  been 
reclaimed  from  a  state  of  careless  iudifFerenco  by  attending  one 
of  these  meetings,  and  at  last  it  was  determined  that  I  was 
to  go. 

"  First  came  the  ministers,  and  then  the  grand  feed  my  aunt 
had  prepared  for  thom,  before  they  opened  tho  camimign.  Never 
shall  I  forget  how  those  holy  men  devoured  the  good  things  set 
before  them.  I  stood  gazing  upon  them  in  utter  astonishment, 
wondering  when  their  meal  would  come  to  an  end.  They  none 
wore  whiskers,  and  their  broad  fat  faces  literally  shone  with 
high  feeding.  When  I  laughed  at  their  being  such  excellent 
knife  and  fork  men,  aunt  gravely  reproved  my  levity,  by  saying, 
'  that  the  labourer  was  worthy  of  his  hire ;  and  that  it  would  bo 
a  great  sin  to  muzzle  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn ;  that 
field  preaching  was  a  vfry  exhausting  thing,  and  that  these  pious 
men  required  a  great  deal  of  nourishmeiit  to  keep  up  their 
strength  for  tho  performance  of  the  good  work,' 

"  After  they  were  gone,  I  dressed  and  accompanied  my  aunt  to 
tho  scene  of  action. 

"  It  was  a  lovely  spot,  about  a  mile  from  the  house.  Tlie  land 
rose  in  a  gentle  slope  from  the  river,  and  Avas  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  lofty  woods.  The  front  gave  us  a  fine  view  of 
tho  St.  Lawrence,  rushing  along  in  its  strengtli,  tlie  distant 
murmur  of  the  waves  mingling  with  the  sigh  of  Ihe  summer 
breeze,  that  swept  the  dense  foliage  of  the  forest  trees.  Tho 
place  had  been  cleared  many  years  bemro,  and  was  quite  free 
from  st'imps  and  fallen  timber,  tho  ground  carpeted  with  eoft 
moss  and  verdant  fresh  looking  turf. 

"  The  ai'ea  allotted  for  the  meeting  was  fenced  around  with  tho 
long  thin  trunks  of  sapling  trees,  that  were  tied  together  with 
strips  of  bass-wood.  In  the  centre  of  the  enclosure  was  tho 
platform  for  the  preachers,  constructed  of  rough  slabs,  and 
directly  behind  this  rural  puljjit  was  a  large  tent  connected  ^ith 
it  by  a  flight  of  board  steps.  Hero  the  preachers  retired,  after 
delivering  their  lectures,  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves.  Front- 
ing the  platform  was  a  sort  of  amphitheatre  of  booths,  constructed 
of  branches  of  trees,  and  containing  benches  of  boards  supported 


h  i 


LIFK    IN    TIIK    CLEAUINCa, 


127 


free 


. 


J> 


at  citlicr  cntl  by  a  round  log  laid  lengthwise  at  the  sides  of  tho 
tent.  Jiehind  these  rough  benches  persons  had  placed  mat- 
tresses, which  they  had  brought  with  them  in  their  wagons, 
that  such  as  came  from  a  distanco  might  not  want  for  a  bed 
during  their  stay — some  of  tlieso  njcptings  lasting  over  a  week. 

"  The  space  without  tho  enclosure  was  occupied  by  a  double 
lino  of  carts,  wagons,  light  carriages,  and  ox  sleds,  while  tho 
animals  undivested  of  their  harness  were  browsing  peacefully 
among  tho  trees.  The  inner  space  was  crowded  with  persons 
of  all  classes,  but  tho  poorer  certainly  predominated.  Well 
dressed,  respectable  peojjle,  however,  were  not  wanting ;  and 
though  I  came  there  to  see  and  to  bo  seen,  to  laugh  and  to  mako 
others  laugh,  I  rmist  confess  that  I  was  greatly  struck  with  tho 
imposing  and  picturesque  scene  before  me,  particularly  when  a 
number  of  voices  joined  in  singing  tho  hymn  with  which  the 
service  commenced." 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  this  blending  of  hnman 
voices  in  the  open  air — this  choral  song  of  praise  bonie  upwards 
from  the  eartli,  and  ascending  through  the  clear  atmospliero  to 
heaven.  Leaving  my  friend  and  her  curious  narrative  for  a  few 
ir^niites,  I  must  remark  here  tho  powerful  effect  produced  upon 
my  mind  by  hearing  "  God  save  tho  King,"  sung  by  the  thousands 
of  London  on  the  proclamation  of  "William  IV.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  distinguish  good  or  bad  voices  in  such  a  mighty  volumo 
of  sound,  which  rolled  through  tho  air  like  a  peal  of  .solemn 
thunder.  It  thrilled  through  my  heart,  and  paled  my  cheek. 
It  seemed  to  mo  the  united  voice  of  a  whole  nation  rising  to  tho 
throne  of  God,  and  it  was  tho  grandest  combination  of  sound 
and  sentiment  that  ever  burst  upon  human  ears.  Long,  long 
may  that  thrilling  anthem  rise  from  tlio  heart  of  England,  in 
strains  of  loyal  thanksgiving  and  praise,  to  tho  throne  of  that 
Eternal  Potentate  in  ^vhose  hand  is  the  fate  of  princes ! 

"  There  were  numbers  qf  persons  who,  like  myself,  came  there 
for  amusement,  and  who  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  quite  as 
much  as  I  did.  The  preaching  at  length  commenced  with  a  long 
prayer,  followed  by  an  admonitory  address,  urging  those  present 
to  see  their  danger,  repent  of  their  sins,  and  flee  from  the  wrath 
to  come. 

"Towards  the  middle  of  his  discourse,  tho  speaker  wrought 


! 


v,:f.  i. 


I 


128 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLRAniN'OS. 


himsolf  up  into  mch  a  rcligioiis  fury  tliut  it  bocaino  infcctionp, 
and  cries  and  groans  resounded  on  all  sides;  and  the  prayers 
poured  out  by  repentant  sinners  for  mercy  and  pardon  were 
heart-rending.  The  speaker  at  length  became  spcochleas  from 
exhaustion,  and  stopping  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  too 
eloquent  harangue,  ho  tied  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  round  his 
head,  and  hastily  descended  the  steps,  and  disappeared  in  the 
tent  provided  for  the  accommodation  of  the  ministers.  His 
l)lace  was  instantly  supplied  by  a  tall,  dark,  melancholy  looking 
man,  who,  improving  upon  his  reverend  brother's  suggestions, 
drew  such  an  awfnl  picture  of  the  tonnents  endured  by  the 
damned,  that  several  women  fainted,  while  others  were  shrieking 
in  violent  hysterics. 

"I  had  listened  to  the  former  speaker  with  attention  and 
respect,  but  this  man's  violent  denunciations  rather  tended  to 
harden  my  heart,  and  make  mo  resist  any  religious  feeling  that 
had  been  grooving  up  in  my  breast.  I  began  to  tiro  of  the  whole 
thing,  and  commenced  looking  about  for  some  object  that  might 
divert  my  thoughts  into  a  less  gloomy  channel. 

"The  bench  on  which  I,  together  with  a  number  of  persons, 
was  sitting,  was  so  insecurely  placed  on  the  round  rolling  logs 
that  supported  it,  that  I  perceived  that  the  least  motion  given  to 
it  at  my  end  would  capsize  it,  ind  bring  all  the  dear  groaning 
crefitures  who  were  sitting  upon  it,  with  their  eyes  turned  up  to 
the  preacher,  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

'""Would  it  not  be  glorious  fun?'  whispered  the  spirit  of  mis- 
chief— perhaps  the  old  one  himself—in  my  ears.  *  I  can  do  it, 
and  I  will  do  it — so  here  goes!'  As  I  sat  next  to  the  round  log 
that  supported  my  end  of  the  plank,  I  had  only  to  turn  my  face 
that  way,  and  apply  my  foot  like  a  lever  to  the  round  trunk,  on 
which  the  end  of  the  bench  had  the  slightest  possible  hold,  and 
the  contemplated  doAvnfall  became  a  certainty.  No  sooner 
thought  than  done.  The  next  moment  old  and  young,  fat  and 
lean,  women  and  children,  lay  sprawling  together  on  the  ground, 
in  the  most  original  attitudes  and  picturesque  confusion.  I,  for 
my  part,  was  lying  very  comfortably  on  one  of  the  mattresses, 
laughing  until  real  tears,  but  not  of  contrition,  streamed  down 
my  face. 

" Never  shall  I  forget  a  fat  old  fiirmer,  who  used  to  visit  at  my 


al 

hi 


LIFE    IN   TUE    CLBARIN08. 


120 


log 


for 


wn 


aunt's,  aa  lio  crawled  oat  of  tho  human  heap  on  all  four.-',  and 
shook  his  head  at  mo — 

"  '  Yoti  wicked  young  sinner,  this  is  all  your  doings.' 

"  Helbro  tho  storm  could  burst  upon  ine,  I  got  up  and  ran 
laugiiing  out  of  tho  tont,  and  hid  myself  among  tlio  trees  to 
ei)joy  my  wicked  thoughts  alone.  Hero  I  remained  for  a  long 
time,  watching,  at  a  safe  distance,  the  mad  gesticulations  of  tho 
preacher,  who  was  capering  up  and  down  on  tho  platform,  and 
using  the  most  violent  and  extravagant  language,  until  at  length, 
overcome  by  his  vehemence,  ho  too  tied  tho  invariable  red  hand- 
kerchief round  his  head,  and  tumbled  back  into  tho  tent,  to  bo 
succeeded  by  another  and  another. 

"  Night,  with  all  her  stars,  was  now  stealing  upon  us  ;  but  tho 
light  front  a  huge  pile  of  burning  logs,  and  from  torches  composed 
of  fat  pine,  and  stuck  in  iron  grates  supported  on  poles  in  ditfer- 
ent  parts  of  the  plain,  scattered  the  darkness  back  to  tho  woods, 
and  made  it  as  light  as  noon-day. 

"The  scene  was  now  wild  in  tho  extreme:  tho  red  light 
streamed  upon  tho  moving  mass  of  human  beings  who  pressed 
around  tho  puipit,  glaring  upon  clenched  fists  and  upturned 
faces,  while  the  preacher  standing  above  them,  and  thrown  into 
strong  relief,  with  his  head  held  hack  and  his  hands  raised  to- 
wards heaven,  looked  like  some  inspired  prophet  of  old,  calling 
down  fire  from  heaven  to  consume  the  ungodly.  It  was  a  spec- 
tacle to  inspire  both  fear  and  awe ;  but  I  could  only  view  it  in 
the  most  absurd  light,  and  laugh  at  it. 

"  At  length  I  was  determined  to  know  what  became  of  tho 
preachers,  after  tying  the  red  handkerchief  round  their  heads 
and  retreating  to  their  tents.  I  crept  carefully  round  to  tlic 
back  of  this  holy  of  holies,  and  applying  my  eyes  to  a  little 
aperture  in  the  canvas,  I  saw  by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle 
several  men  lying  upon  mattresses  fast  asleep,  their  noses  making 
anything  but  a  musical  response  to  tlie  hymns  and  prayers  with- 
out. "While  I  was  gazing  upon  these  prostrate  forms,  thus 
soundly  sleeping  after  the  hubbub  and  excitement  their  di:j- 
course  had  occasioned  among  their  congregation,  tho  last 
speaker  hastily  entered  the  tent,  and  flinging  himself  on  to 
the  floor,  exclaimed,  in  a  sort  of  ecstacy  of  gratitude—'  Well, 


.      li 


H 


■!i«j>^ 


130 


LIFE   IN    THE   CLEARINGS. 


tlmnk  God  my  task  is  ended  for  the  night ;  and  now  for  a  good 

pleop!' 

"  While  I  was  yet  ponderinf,'  tlicso  tilings  in  my  heart,  T  fi-lt 
the  f^TJisp  of  a  hand  npoii  my  Khoiilder.  I  ttirucd  with  a  Hhriek  ; 
it  was  my  aunt  seeking  mo.  '  Wliat  arc  you  doing  hcro^  tfho 
paid,  rather  angrily. 

"  'Studying  nfy  lesson,  aunt,'  said  I,  gravely,  pointing  to  the 
8loei)er8.  '  Do  these  men  preach  for  their  own  honor  and  gU)ry, 
or  for  the  glory  of  God?  I  have  tried  to  tind  out,  but  1  can't 
tell.' 

" '  The  niglit's  grown  chilly,  child,'  said  my  aunt,  avoiding  the 
answer  I  expected  ;  '  it  is  time  you  were  in  bed.' 

"  Wo  went  homo.  I  got  a  sound  lecture  for  tho  trick  I  hud 
played,  and  I  never  went  to  a  camp-meeting  again  ;  yet,  in  s[)ito 
of  my  bad  conduct  as  a  child,  I  helievo  they  often  do  good,  and 
aro  tho  means  of  making  careless  people  think  of  tho  state  of 
their  souls." 

Though  the  steam-boats  do  not  stop  at  Shannonvillo,  they  never 
fail  to  do  so  at  tho  pretty  town  of  Northport,  on  tho  other  side 
of  the  bay,  in  order  to  take  in  freight  and  passengers. 

Northport  rises  with  a  very  steep  slope  from  tho  water's  edge, 
and  the  steamer  runs  into  the  wharf  which  projects  but  a  few 
feet  from  tho  shore.  Down  the  long  hill  wJiich  leads  to  tho 
main  street,  men  and  boys  aro  running  to  catch  a  sight  of  the 
steamboat,  and  hear  tho  news.  All  is  bustle  and  confusion, 
Ihirrels  of  Hour  are  being  rolled  into  the  boat,  and  sheep  and 
cattle  are  led  otf — men  hurry  on  board  with  trunks  and  carj)Ct 
bags — and  women,  with  children  in  their  arms  or  led  by  tho 
Jiand,  hasten  on  board ;  while  our  passengers,  descending  to  the 
wharf,  aro  shaking  hands  witli  merchants  and  farmers,  and  talk- 
ing over  the  current  prices  of  grain  and  merchandise  at  tlieii- 
respactive  towns.  Tho  bell  rings — tho  cable  that  bound  us  to 
the  friendly  wharf  is  cast  off  and  tiung  on  tho  deck — tho  steamer 
opens  her  deep  lungs,  and  we  are  once  more  stemming  our  way 
towards  Kingston. 

While  we  sail  up  that  romantic  part  of  the  Bay  of  Quints, 
called  tho  "  Long  Reach,"  at  the  head  of  which  stands  the  beau- 
tiful town  of  PictoD,  I  will  give  you  a  few  reminiscences  of 


y 


>l 


I.Il'K    IN    llliC    CLKAItlNOB. 


lai 


' 


Nortliport.  It  is  a  most  qiiiot  nnd  iir'miitivo  villftgo,  and  one 
might  tr;:'.y  excilaim  witli  Mouro — 

•*  Aiul  I  wiiid  if  thiTc'rt  peace  to  bo  found  on  tho  onrth, 
The  liotirt  tlmt  irt  hiiinblc  might  hojio  for  it  hero." 

No  gentler  picture  of  socioty  in  u  now  country  could  bo  found, 
than  the  one  exiiibited  by  the  inhabitants  of  Nortliport.  The 
distinctions,  unav(»idablo  among  jlcrsons  of  wealth  and  ('(Iiication, 
are  hardly  fdt  or  recognised  here.  Kvery  ono  is  a  neighl)our  in 
the  strictest  sense  of  the  word,  and  high  and  low  meet  occasion- 
ally at  each  other's  houses.  Even  tho  domestics  aro  ren\oved  by 
such  a  narrow  lino  of  demarcalion,  that  they  aj)[)ear  like  mem- 
bers of  one  family. 

Tho  Prince  Edward  district,  ono  of  the  wealthiest  rural  dlstrictn 
in  Ui)per  Canada,  was  settled  about  .sixty  years  ago  by  U.  E.  loy- 
alists; and  its  inhabitants'aro  mainly  composed  of  the  descend- 
ants of  Dutch  and  American  families.  They  have  among  them 
a  largo  sprinkling  of  Quakers,  who  aro  a  hajjpy,  hos[)itablo 
community,  living  in  peaco  and  brotherly  kindness  with  all 
men. 

The  soil  of  this  district  is  of  the  best  quality  for  agricultural 
purposes;  and  though  tho  march  of  improvement  has  been  slow, 
when  compared  with  tho  rapid  advance  of  other  places  that 
possessed  fewer  local  advantages,  it  has  gone  on  steadily  pro- 
gressing, and  tho  surface  of  a  fine  nndulating  country  is  dotted 
over  with  largo  well-cleared  farms,  and  neat  farm-houses. 

Ono  of'  the  oldest  and  Avealthiest  inhabitants  of  Nortliport, 

Captain ,  is  a  fine  specimen  of  tho  old  school  of  Canadian 

settlers ;  ono  of  nature's  gentlemen,  a  man  respected  and  beloved 
by  all  who  know  him,  whoso  wise  head,  and  keen  organs  of 
observation,  have  rendered  him  a  highly  intelligent  and  intel- 
lectual man,  without  having  received  the  benefit  of  a  college 
education.  Ilis  house  is  always  open  for  the  rece])lion  of  friends, 
neighbours,  and  strangers.  He  has  no  children  of  his  own,  but 
has  adopted  several  orphan  children,  on  whom  he  has  bestowed 
all  the  aftection  and  care  of  a  real  parent. 

This  system  of  adopting  children  in  Canada  is  ono  of  great 
bonevolence,  which  cannot  bo  too  highly  eulogized.     Many  an 


r, 

I  1 1<<( 


)  mi 


m 


i  I 


I 


ESC 


mfUnanHM  HMMiilHita 


132 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


n 


orphan  child,  who  would  be  cast  utterly  friendless  upon  the 
world,  finds  a  coiiifoi'table  homo  with  some  good  neighbour, 
Mild  is  treated  with  more  consideration,  and  enjoys  greater 
l)rivilege9,  than  if  his  own  parents  had  lived.  No  difference  is 
made  between  the  adopted  child  and  the  young  ones  of  the 
lainily ;  it  .is  clothed,  boarded,  and  educated  with  the  same  care, 
and  a  stranger  would  find  it  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the 
real,  which  the  transplanted  scion  of  the  house. 

Captain seldom  dines  alone ;  some  one  is  always  going 

and  coming,  stepping  in  and  taking  pot-luck,  by  accident  or 
invitation.  But  the  Captain  can  afford  it.  Sociable,  talkative, 
and  the  soul  of  hospitality,  he  entertains  his  guests  like  a  prince. 
"  Is  he  not  a  glorious  old  fellow  ?"  said  our  beloved  and  excellent, 

chief-justice  Robinson ;  "  Captain is  a  credit  to  the  country." 

"We  echoed  this  sentiment  with  our  whole  heart.  It  is  quite  a 
treat  to  make  one  of  his  uninvited  guests,  and  share  the  good- 
humoured  sociability  of  his  bountiful  table. 

Yciu  meet  there  men  of  all  grades  and  conditions,  of  every 
party  aad  creed, — the  well-educated,  well-dressed  clergymen  of 
the  Estfl.blishment,  and  the  travelling  dispensers  of  gospel  truths, 
W'itl:  shabl'ier  coats  and  less  ])retensions.  No  one  is  deemed  an 
iutrudor — .ill  find  excellent  cheer,  and  a  hearty  w^elcftme. 

Northport  does  not  want  its  native  poet,  though  the  money- 
making  merchants  and  farmers  regard  him  with  a  suspicious  and 
pitying  eye.  The  manner  in  which  they  speak  of  his  unhajjpy 
malady  reminds  me  of  what  an  old  Quaker  said  to  me  regarding 
his  nephew,  Bernard  Barton — "Friend  Susanna,  it  is  a  great 
pity,  but  my  nephew  Bernard  is  sadly  addicted  to  literature." 

So  Isaac  N ,  gentleman  farmer  of  the  township  of  Amelias- 
burgh,  is  sadly  gifted  with  the  genuine  elements  of  poetry,  and, 
like  Burns,  composes  verses  at  the  plough-tail.  I  have  read  with 
great  pleasure  some  sweet  lines  by  this  rural  Canadian  bard ;  and 
were  he  now  beside  me,  instead  of  "  Big  bay"  lying  so  provok- 
ingly  between,  I  would  beg  from  him  a  specimen  of  his  rhyming 
powers,  just  to  prove  to  my  readers  that  the  genuine  children  of 
f'ong  are  disting-Jsiied  by  the  same  unmistakable  characteristics 
in  ©very  clime. 

1  remember  being  greatly  struck  by  an  overcoat,  worn  by  a 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEAKINGS. 


133 


clergyman  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  many  years  ago  at  this 
village,  wliich  seemed  to  me  a  pretty  good  substitute  for  the 
miraculous  purse  of  Fortunatus.  The  garment  to  which  I  allude 
was  long  and  wide,  and  cut  round  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a 
spencer.  The  inside  lining  formed  one  capacious  pocket,  into 
which  the  reverend  gentleman  could  conveniently  stow  away 
newspapers,  books,  and  sermons,  and,  on  a  pinch,  a  fat  fowl,  a 
bottle  of  wine,  or  a  home-baked  loaf  of  bread.  On  the  present 
occasion,  the  kind  mistress  of  the  house  took  care  that  the 
owner  should  not  travel  with  it  empty ;  so,  to  keep  him  fairly 
balanced  on  his  horse,  she  stowed  away  into  tl'.i  convenient 
garment  such  an  assortment  of  good  things,  that  I  sat  and 
watched  the  operation  in  curious  amazement. 

Some  time  after,  I  happened  to  dine  with  a  dissenting  minister 

at  Mr. 's  house.    The  man  had  a  very  repulsive  and  animal 

expression ;  he  ate  so  long  and  lustily  of  a  very  fat  goose,  that  ho 
began  to  look  very  uncomfortable,  and  complained  very  much  of 
being  troubled  with  dyspepsy  after  his  meals.  He  was  a  great 
teetotaller,  or  professed  to  be  one,  but  certainly  had  forgotten 
the  text,  "Be  ye  moderate  in  all  things;"  for  he  by  no  uiep.ns 
applied  the  temperance  system  to  the  substantial  creature  com- 
forts of  which  he  partook  in  a  most  immoderately  voracious 
manner. 

"  I  know  what  would  cure  you,  Mr.  R ,"  said  my  friend, 

who  seemed  to  guess  at  a  glance  the  I'cal  character  of  his  visitor; 
"but  then  I  know  that  you  would  never  consent  to  make  use  of 
sucli  a  remedy." 

"I  would  take  anything  that  would  do  me  good,"  said  black- 
coat,  with  a  sigh. 

"What  think  you  of  a  small  v.ine-glass  of  brandy  just  before 
taking  dinner?" 

"Against  my  principles,  Sir;  it  would  never  do,"  with  a  lugu- 
brious shako  of  the  head. 

"  There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  good  for  your  complaint." 

"Do  you  reelly  think  it  would  serve  me?"  with  a  sudden 
twinkle  of  his  heavy  fishy  eyes. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  the  fact"  (pouring  out  a  pretty  large  dram); 
"  it  will  kill  the  heartburn,  and  do  aiv  ay  with  that  uncomfortable 


H 


mMtma 


Kifca^itr 


134 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


■:4 
I. 


feeling  you  experience  after  eating  rich  food.  And  as  to  princi- 
plcfi,  your  pledge  allows  it  in  case  of  disease." 

"True,"  said  black-coat,  coquetting  with  the  glasj;  "stiii  I 
should  be  sorry  to  try  an  alcoliolic  remedy  while  another  could 
be  found." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  eating  less^''''  said  ray  friend  slyly, 
"  which,  I  have  been  told  by  a  medical  man,  is  generally  a  cer- 
tain cure  if  persevered  in." 

"  Oh,  ah,  yes.  But,  Sir,  my  constitution  would  never  ^tand 
that.  I  think  for  once  I  will  try  the  effect  of  your  first  pre- 
scription ;  but,  remember,  it  is  only  medicinally.'''' 

The  next  moment  the  glass  was  returned  to  the  table  empty, 
and  the  good  man  took  his  leave. 

"  Now,  Mr. ,  was  it  not  too  bad  of  you  to  make  that  man 

break  his  pledge?"  observed  a  person  at  table. 

"My  dear  Sir,  that  man  requires  very  little  tempLation  to  do 
that.  The  total  abstinence  of  a  glutton  is  entirely  for  the 
-ablic." 

The  houses  built  by  the  Dutch  settlers  have  very  little  privacy, 
as  one  bed-chamber  invariably  opens  into  another.  lu  some 
cases,  the  sleeping  apartments  all  open  into  the  common  sitting- 
room  occupied  by  the  family.  To  English  people,  this  is  both  an 
uncomfortable  and  \cry  unpleasant  arrangement. 

I  slept  for  two  nights  at  Mr. 's  house,  with  my  husband, 

and  our  dormitory  had  no  egress  but  tlirough  another  l)ed- 
chamber;  and  as  that  happened  to  be  occupied  on  tlio  lirst 
night  by  a  clergyman,  I  had  to  wait  for  an  hour,  after  my 
husband  w"s  up  and  down  stairs  rejoicing  in  tlio  fresh  air  of  a 
lovely  summer  morning,  before  I  could  escape  from  my  cham- 
ber,— my  neighbour,  who  was  young  and  very  comely,  taking  a 
long  time  for  liis  prayers,-as  the  business  of  the  toilet. 

My  husband  laughed  very  heartily  at  my  imp: isonmcnt,  a;-;  he 
termed  it;  but  tlic  next  day  I  had  the  laugh  against  him,  for  our 
sleeping  neighbours  happened  to  be  a  middle-aged  Quaker,  witli 
a  very  sickly  delicate  wife.  I,  of  course,  was  forced  to  go  to  bed 
when  s.'-.e  did,  or  be  obliged  to  pass  through  her  chamber  after 
brother  Jonathan  had  retired  for  the  niglit.  This  being  by  no 
means  desirable,  I  left  a  very  interesting  argument,  iu  which  ray 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


185 


husband,  tlio  Quaker,  and  tho  poet  were  fighting  an  animated 
battle  on  reform  principles,  against  the  clergyman  and  my  very 
much  respected  Tory  host.  How  they  got  on  1  don't  know,  for 
the  debate  was  at  ics  height  when  I  was  obliged  to  beat  my 
retreat  to  bed. 

After  an  hour  or  so  I  heard  Jonathan  tumVlc  up  stairs  to  bed, 
and  while  undressing  lie  made  the  following  very  innocent  remark 
to  his  wife,  "  Truly,  Hannah,  I  fear  that  I  have  used  too  many 
words  to-night.  My  uncle  is  a  man  of  many  words,  and  one  is 
apt  to  forget  tho  rules  of  prudence  when  arguing  with  him." 

If  tho  use  of  many  words  was  looked  upon  as  a  serious  trans- 
gression by  honest  Jonathan,  my  Imsband,  my  friend,  and  tho 
poet,  must  have  been  very  guilty  men,  for  they  continued  their 
argument  imtil  the  "sma'  hours  ayont  tlie  t'val." 

My  husband  had  to  pass  through  the  room  occupied  by  the 
Friends,  in  order  to  reach  mine,  but  he  put  a  bold  face  upon  the 
matter,  and  plunged  at  once  through  tho  difficulty,  the  Quaker's 
nose  giving  unmistakable  notice  that  he  was  in  the  land  of  Nod. 
The  pale  sickly  woman  just  opened  her  dreamy  black  eyes,  but 
hid  them  instantly  beneath  tho  bed-clothes,  and  the  pa;^sage,  not 
of  arms,  but  of  the  bed-chamber,  was  won. 

The  next  morning  we  had  to  rise  early  to  take  the  boat,  and 
Jonathan  v/as  up  by  the  dawn  of  day ;  so  that  I  went  through 
as  bold  as  a  lion,  and  was  busily  employed  in  discussing  an 
excellent  breakfast,  while  my  poor  partner  was  sitting  impa- 
tiently nursing  his  appetite  at  tlio  foot  of  his  bed,  and  wishing 
the  pale  Quakeress  across  the  bay.  Tlie  steamer  was  in  sight 
before  ho  was  able  to  join  us  at  the  1 'reakfast-table.     I  l)ad  now 

my  revenge,  and  teased  him  all  the  way  homo  on  lung  kei)t  a 

prisoner,  with  only  a  sickly  woman  for  a  jailor. 

A  young  lady  gave  mo  an  account  of  a  funeral  slie  witnessed 

in  this  primitivo  village,  which  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  my 

English  readers,  as  a  picture  of  some  of  the  customs  of  a  new 

country. 
The  deceased  was  an  old  and  very  respectable  resident  in  tho 

township ;  and  as  the  Canadians  delight  in  large  funerals,  he  waa 

followed  +0  his  last  home  by  nearly  all  the  residents  for  miles 

around. 


;.!)? 


[ 

I 


■f' 


III!  [  *mm 


136 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


I       f 


The  ueo  of  tho  hoarse  is  not  known  in  ninil  districts,  Jind, 
indeed,  is  seldom  used  in  towns  or  cities  lierc.  The  corpse  is 
generally  carried  to  tho  grave,  the  bearers  being  chosen  iVoin 
among  tlie  gentlemen  of  most  note  in  the  ncighboni  hood,  wlio, 
to  the  honour  of  the  country  be  it  spoken,  never  refuse  to  act  on 
these  mournful  occasions.  These  walking  funerals  are  far  more 
imposing  and  affecting  spectacles  than  the  hearse  with  its  funeral 
plumes;  and  the  simple  fact  of  friends  and  neighbours  conveying 
a  departed  brother  to  his  long  home,  has  a  more  solemn  and 
touching  effect  upon  the  mind,  than  the  train  of  hired  mourners 
and  empty  state-carriages. 

When  a  body  is  brought  from  a  distance  for  interment,  it  is 
conveyed  in  a  wagon,  if  in  summer,  spring,  or  autumn,  and  on  a 
sleigh  during  the  winter  season,  and  is  attended  to  the  grave  by 
all  the  respectable  yeomen  in  the  township. 

I  cannot  resist  the  strong  temptation  of  digressing  from  my 
present  subject,  in  order  to  relate  a  very  affecting  instance  I 
witnessed  at  one  of  these  funerals  of  the  attachment  of  a  dog  to 
his  deceased  master,  which  drew  tears  from  my  eyes,  and  from 
tho  eyes  of  my  children. 

The  body  of  a  farmer  had  been  brought  in  a  wagon  from  one 
of  the  back  townships,  a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  and 
was,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  attended  by  a  long  train  of  country 
equipages.  My  house  fronted  the  churchyard,  and  from  the  win- 
dows you  could  witness  the  whole  of  the  funeral  ceremonial,  and 
hear  the  service  pronounced  over  the  grave.  When  the  coffin 
was  lifted  by  the  stalwart  sons  of  tho  deceased  from  the  wagon, 
and  the  procession  formed^  to  carry  it  into  the  church,  I  observed 
a  large,  buff  Flemish  dog  fall  into  tho  ranks  of  the  mourners,  and 
follow  them  into  the  sacred  edifice,  keeping  as  near  the  coffin  as 
those  about  it  would  permit  him.  After  the  service  in  tho 
cliurch  was  ended,  the  creature  persevered  in  following  the  be- 
loved remains  to  the  grave.  When  the  crowd  dispersed,  the 
faithful  animal  retired  to  some  distance,  and  laid  himself  quietly 
down  upon  a  grave,  until  the  sexton  had  finished  his  mournful 
task,  and  the  last  sod  was  placed  upon  tho  fresh  heap  that  had 
closed  for  ever  over  tho  form  he  loved. 

When  tho  man  retired,  the  dog  proceeded  to  the  spot,  walked 


' 


. 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


13Y 


t 


carefully  round  it,  smelt  the  earth,  lifted  his  head,  and  uttered 
the  most  unearthly  howls.  lie  then  endeavoured  to  disinter  the 
body,  by  digging  a  large  hole  at  one  end  of  the  grave;  but  find- 
ing that  ho  could  not  effect  his  purpose,  ho  stretched  himself  at 
full  length  over  it,  as  if  to  guard  the  spot,  with  his  hea'fl  buried 
between  his  fore-paws,  his  w^holo  appearance  betokening  the 
most  intense  dejection. 

All  that  day  and  night,  and  the  next  day  and  night,  he  never 
quitted  his  post  for  an  instant,  at  intervals  smelling  the  earth, 
and  uttering  those  mournful,  heart-rending  cries.  My  boys  took 
liim  bread  and  meat,  and  tried  to  coax  him  from  the  grave  ;  but 
Ije  rejected  the  food  and  their  caresses.  The  creature  appeared 
wasted  and  heart-broken  with  grief.  Towards  noon  of  the  third 
day,  the  eldest  son  of  his  late  master  came  in  search  of  him ;  and 
the  young  man  seemed  deeply  affected  by  this  instance  of  the 
dog's  attachment  to  his  father.  Even  Ma  well-known  voice 
failed  to  entice  him  from  the  grave,  and  he  wacj  obliged  to  bring 
a  collar  and  chain,  and  lift  him  by  force  into  his  wagon,  to  get 
liim  from  his  post. 

Oh,  human  love !  is  thy  memory  and  thy  faith  greater  than 
the  attachment  of  this  poor,  and,  as  we  term  him,  unreasoning 
brute,  to  his  dead  master?  His  grief  made  an  impression  on  my 
mind,  and  on  that  of  my  children,  which  will  never  be  forgotten. 

But  to  return  to  the  village  funeral.  The  body  in  this  case 
was  boi  ne  to  the  church  by  the  near  relatives  of  the  deceased  ; 
and  a  clergyman  of  the  establishment  delivered  a  funeral  sermon, 
in  which  ho  enumerated  the  good  qualities  of  the  departed,  his 
long  residerce  among  them,  and  described  the  trials  and  hard- 
ships he  had  encountered  as  a  first  settler  in  that  district,  while 
it  was  yet  in  the  wilderness,  lie  extolled  his  conduct  as  a  good 
citizen,  a  faithful  Christian,  and  a  public-spirited  man.  His 
sermon  was  a  very  complete  piece  of  rural  biography,  very 
curious  and  grapliic  in  its  way,  and  was  listened  to  with  the 
deepest  attention  by  the  persoiis  assembled. 

When  the  discourse  was  concluded,  and  the  blessing  pronounced, 
one  of  the  sons  of  the  deceased  rose  and  informed  the  persons 
present,  tliat  if  any  one  wished  to  take  a  last  look  of  the  dear  old 
man,  now  was  the  time. 


r« 


138 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS, 


He  then  led  the  way  to  tlie  aisle,  ia  wliich  the  coffin  stood 
upon  the  trcssels,  and  opening  a  small  lid  in  the  top,  revealed  to 
the  astonishment  of  my  yonng  friend  the  pale,  ghastly  face  of  the 
dead.  Almost  every  person  present  touched  either  the  face, 
hands,  or  brow  of  the  deceased ;  and  after  their  curiosity  had 
been  fully  satisfied,  the  procession  followed  the  remains  to  tla-ir 
last  resting-place.  This  part  of  the  ceremony  concluded,  the 
inditlerent  spectators  dispersed  to  their  respective  homes,  whilo 
the  friends  and  relations  of  the  dead  man  returned  to  dine  at  tlie 
house  of  one  of  his  sons,  my  friend  making  one  of  the  party. 

In  solemn  state  the  mourners  discussed  the  merits  of  an  ex  • 
cellent  dinner, — the  important  business  of  eating  being  occasion- 
ally interrupted  by  remarks  upon  the  appearance  of  the  corpse, 
his  age,  the  disease  of  which  he  died,  the  probable  division  of 
his  property,  and  the  merits  of  the  funeral  discourse.  This  was 
done  la  sucli  a  business-like,  matter-of-fact  manner,  that  my 
friend  was  astonished  how  the  blood  relations  of  the  deceased 
could  join  in  these  remarks. 

After  the  great  business  of  eating  was  concluded,  the  spirits  of 
the  party  began  to  flag.  Tlie  master  of  the  house  perceiving 
how  matters  were  going,  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned  with 
a  servant  bearing  a  tray  with  plates  and  forks,  and  a  large  dish 
of  hickory  nuts.  The  mourners  di'ied  their  tears,  and  set  seri- 
ously to  work  to  discuss  the  nuts,  and  while  deoi)ly  engaged  with 
their  mouse-like  employment,  forgot  for  a  whilo  their  sorrow  iVn* 
the  dead,  continuing  to  keep  up  their  spirits  until  the  announce- 
ment of  tea  turned  their  thoughts  into  a  new  channel.  By  the 
time  all  the  rich  pies,  cakes,  and  preserves  were  eaten,  their 
feelings  seemed  to  have  subsided  into  their  accustomed  every- 
day routine. 

It  is  certain  that  death  is  looked  upon  by  many  Canadians 
more  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  a  change  of  property  into  other 
hands,  than  as  a  real  domestic  calamity.  I  have  heard  people 
talk  of  the  approaching  dissolution  of  their  nearest  ties,  with  a 
calm  philosophy  which  I  never  could  comprehend.  "Mother  is 
old  and  dehcate;  we  can't  expect  her  to  last  long,"  says  one. 
"  My  brother's  death  has  been  looked  for  these  several  months 
past ;  you  know  he's  in  the  consumption."    My  husband  asked 


I 


I 


i 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


139 


- 


tho  son  of  a  rospectablo  farmer,  for  whom  lie  entertained  fln 
esteem,  how  his  father  was,  for  ho  liad  not  seen  liim  for  some 
time ?  "I  gness,"  was  tlie  reply,  " that  the  old  man's  fixiug  for 
the  other  world."     Another  young  man,  being  asked  by  my 

friend.  Captain ,  to  ppend  the  evening  at  his  house,  replied 

— "No,  can't — much  obliged;  but  I'm  afear'd  that  grandfather 
will  give  the  last  kicks  while  I'm  away." 

Canadians  flock  in  crowds  to  visit  tho  dying,  and  to  gazo  upon 
the  dead.  A  doctor  told  me  that  being  called  into  tho  country 
to  visit  a  very  sick  man,  he  was  surprised  on  finding  the  Vs  ifo  of 
liis  patient  sitting  alone  before  the  fire  in  tho  lower  room,  smok- 
ing a  pipe.     Ho  naturally  inquired  if  her  husband  was  better  ? 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  far  from  that;  he  is  dying!" 

"  Dying  !  and  you  here  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  that,  sir.  Tlie  room  is  so  crowded  with  tho 
neighbours,  that  I  can't  get  in  to  wait  upon  him." 

"Follow  me,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  soon  make  a  clearance  for 
you." 

On  ascending  tho  stairs  that  led  to  the  npar^mont  of  the  sick 
man,  ho  found  them  crowded  Avith  pooi)lo  struggling  to  get  in,  to 
take  a  peep  at  the  poor  man.  It  was  only  by  telling  them  that 
he  was  the  doctor,  tliat  he  forced  his  way  to  the  bedf^ide.  Ho 
found  his  patient  in  a  high  fever,  greatly  augmented  by  tho 
bustle,  confusion,  and  heat,  occasioned  by  so  many  peoplo  round 
him.  With  great  difficulty  he  cleared  the  room  of  these 
intruders,'  and  told  tho  brother  of  his  patient  to  keep  every  one 
but  the  sick  man's  wi.c  out  of  tlie  house.  The  brother  followed 
tho  doctor's  advice,  and  the  man  cheated  the  curiosity  of  tho 
death-seekers,  and  recovered. 

The  Canadians  spend  a  great  deal  of  money  upon  their  dead. 
An  old  lady  told  me  that  her  nei)hcw,  a  very  largo  farmer,  who 
had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife  in  childbed,  had  laid  out  a 
great  deal  of  money — a  little  fortune  she  termed  it — on  her  grave 
clothes.  "  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  thousand  pities  that 
you  did  not  go  and  see  her  before  she  was  buried.  She  was 
dressed  so  expensively,  and  she  made  such  a  beautiful  corpse ! 
Her  cap  was  of  real  thread  lace,  trimmed  with  white  French 


i:* 


140 


LIFE    IN   TUB   CLEARINGS. 


ribbons,  and  her  linen  the  finest  that  could  bo  bonght  in  the 
country." 

The  more  ostentatious  the  display  of  grief  for  the  dead,  the 
less  I  have  always  found  of  the  reality.  I  heard  two  young 
ladies,  who  had  recently  lost  a  mother,  not  more  than  sixteen 
years  older  than  the  eldest  of  the  twain,  lamenting  most  patheti- 
cally that  they  could  not  go  to  a  public  ball,  because  they  were 
in  mourning  for  ma'  I  Oh,  what  a  pitiful  farce  is  this,  of  wear- 
ing mourning  for  the  dead !  But  as  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to 
sensible  people  on  that  subject,  I  will  defer  my  long  lecture  uutil 
the  next  chapter. 

RANDOM  THOUGHTS. 

"  When  is  Youth's  gay  heart  the  Hghtest  ?— 
"Wlien  the  torch  of  health  burns  brightest, 
And  the  soul's  rich  banquet  lies 
In  air  and  ocean,  earth  and  okien  ; 
Till  the  honied  cup  of  pleasure 
Overflows  with  mental  treasure. 

"  When  is  Love's  sweet  dream  the  sweetest? — 
When  ".  kindred  heart  thou  meetest, 
Unpolluted  with  the  strife — 
The  selfish  aims  that  tarnish  life ; 
Ere  the  scowl  of  care  has  faded 
Ths  shining  chaplet  Fancy  braided, 
And  emotions  pure  and  high 
Swell  the  heart  and  fill  the  eye  ; 
Hich  revealings  of  a  mind 

Within  a  loving  breast  enshrined. 
To  thine  own  fond  bosom  plighted, 
In  affection's  bonds  united  : 
The  Hober  joys  of  after  years 
Are  nothing  to  those  smiles  and  fears. 

"  When  is  Sorrow's  sting  the  strongest  ? — 
When  friends  grow  cold  we've  loved  the  longest, 
And  the  bankrupt  heart  would  borrow 
Treacherous  hopes  to  cheat  the  morrow ; 
Dreams  of  bliss  by  reason  banish'd, 


^ 


in  tlio 

d,  tlio 
young 
ixteen 
itheti- 
were 
wear- 
say  to 
I  until 


^ 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLKAKINaS. 

Early  joya  that  quickly  vaniah'd 

And  the  treasured  past  appears 

Only  to  augment  our  tears ; 

Wh  -ri,  within  itself  retreating, 

The  spirit  owns  life's  joys  are  fleeting, 

Yet,  racked  with  anxious  doubts  and  fears, 

Trusts,  Blindly  trusts  to  future  years. 

"  Oh,  this  is  grief,  the  preacher  saith, — 
The  world's  dark  woe  that  worketh  death! 
Yet,  oft  beneath  its  influence  bowed, 
A  beam  of  hope  will  burst  the  cloud. 
And  heaven's  ctlestial  shore  appears 
Slow  rising  o'er  the  tide  of  years. 
Guiding  the  spirit's  darkling  way 
Through  thorny  paths  to  endless  day. 
Then  the  toils  of  life  are  done. 
Youth  and  ago  are  both  as  one : 
Sorrow  never  more  can  sting, 
Neglecc  or  pain  the  bosom  wring ; 
And  the  joys  bless'd  spirits  prove 
Far  exceeds  all  earthly  love  !" 


141 


' 


142 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


CIIAPTEll  VIII. 


"  What  ia  Death  ?— my  sister  say." 
"  Ask  not,  brotlier,  brealhiiiK  clay. 
Ask  tho  earth  on  which  wc  tread, 
That  silent  empire  of  the  deatl. 
Ask  the  sea— Its  myriad  waves, 
Living,  leap  o'er  countless  graves!" 
"  Earth  and  ocean  answer  not. 
Life  is  in  their  dei)ths,  forgot." 
Ask  yon  pale  extended  form, 
Unconscic'is  of  the  coming  storm, 
That  breathed  and  spake  an  hour  ago, 
Of  heavenly  bliss  and  penal  woe  ; — 
AVithin  yon  shrouded  figure  lies 
"  The  mystery  of  mysteries !" 


8.  M. 


Am(1xo  tlio  many  abpurd  customs  tliat  the  sanction  of  time  atul 
tlio  arbitrary  laws  of  society  liave  rendered  indispensable,  there 
is  not  one  that  is  so  much  abused,  and  to  which  mankind  so 
fondly  clings,  as  that  of  icearing  mourning  for  the  dead! — from 
tho  ostentatious  public  mourning  appointed  by  {governments  for 
the  loss  of  their  rulers,  down  to  the  jdaiu  black  badge,  Avurn  by 
tho  liumblest  peasant  for  the  death  of  parent  or  child. 

To  attempt  to  raise  one  feeble  voice  against  a  practice  sanc- 
tioned by  all  nations,  and  hallowed  by  the  most  solemn  religious 
rites,  appears  almost  sacrilegious.  There  is  something  so  beauti- 
ful, so  i)oetical,  so  sacred,  in  this  outward  sign  of  a  deep  and 
heartlldt  sorrow,  that  to  deprive  death  of  bis  sable  habiliments 
— the  melancholy  hearse,  funeral  plumes,  sombre  pall,  and  long 
array  of  drooping  night-clad  mourners,  together  with  the  awful 
clangor  of  tho  dolefid  bell — would  rob  the  stern  necessity  of  our 
nature  of  half  its  terrors,  and  tend  greatly  to  destroy  that  reli- 
gious dread  which  is  so  imposing,  and  which  allbrds  such  a 
solemn  lesson  to  the  living. 

Alas !  Where  is  the  need  of  all  this  black  jjarade  ?  Is  it  not  a 
reproach  to  Him,  who,  in  his  wisdom,  appointed  death  to  pass 
upon  all  men  ?  "Were  the  sentence  confined  to  the  human  species, 
we  might  have  more  reason  for  these  extravagant  demonstrations 


LIFS   IN   TUB   OLBAUINGS. 


148 


of  griof;  but  in  ovory  object  nrouiul  us  wo  see  inscribed  Iho 
mysterious  law  of  clinngo  Tlio  very  luouiitaius  crutublo  and 
decay  Av  1th  years ;  the  gieat  sea  shrink.s  and  grows  again  ;  tlio 
lofty  forest  tree,  that  has  drank  the  dews  of  heaven,  langhc*!  in 
the  buuliglit  and  shook  itjij  branches  at  a  thousand  stornis,  yiolds 
to  tlio  same  inscrutable  destiny,  and  bows  its  tall  forehead  to 
tlio  dust. 

Life  lives  upon  death,  and  death  reproduces  life,  through  end- 
less circles  of  being,  from  the  proud  tyrant  nuin  dt)wn  to  tho 
blind  worm  his  iron  Iieel  tramides  in  tho  earth.  Tlien  wheri'foro 
should  wo  hang  out  this  black  banner  for  thoso  who  arc  beyond 
the  laws  of  change  and  chance? 

"  Yea,  they  have  fiiiish'd  : 
For  them  there  is  no  longer  any  future. 
No  evil  hoir  knocks  at  the  iloor 
With  tidings  of  ml.shap — far  off  are  they, 
Beyond  desire  or  fear." 

It  is  the  dismal  adjuncts  of  death  which  have  invested  it  with 
those  superstitious  terrors  that  >vo  would  fain  see  removed.  Tho 
gloom  arising  from  these  melancholy  pjigoants  forms  a  black 
cloud,  whose  denso  shadow  obscures  the  light  of  life  to  tho 
living.  And  why,  we  ask,  should  death  bo  invested  with  such 
horror?  Death  in  itself  is  not  dreadful;  it  is  but  the  change  of 
one  mode  of  being  for  another — tho  breaking  forth  of  tho  av  liiged 
Koul  from  its  earthly  chrysalis;  or,  as  an  old  Latiii  poet  has  so 
happily  described  it — 

•'  Thus  life  fur  ever  runs  its  endless  race, 

Death  as  a  line  which  but  (Uvides  th'3  Fpacc — 
A  stop  which  can  hut  for  a  moment  l.ut, 
A  point  between  the  future  and  the  'past? 

Nature  presents  in  all  her  laws  such  a  beautiful  and  wonder- 
ful harmony,  that  it  is  as  impossible  for  death  to  produce  discord 
among  them,  as  for  night  to  destroy,  by  tho  intervention  of  its 
shadow,  the  splendour  of  tho  coming  day.  Were  men  taught 
from  infancy  to  regard  death  as  a  natural  consequence,  a  fixed 
law  of  their  being,  instead  as  an  awful  punishment  for  sin — 


144 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAKINOS. 


Iif'-f 


fts  the  friend  and  benefactor  of  mankind,  not  the  roniorsoloss 
tyrant  and  persecutor — to  die  would  no  longer  ho  considered  an 
evil.  Lot  this  hideous  skeleton  ho  hanished  into  darkness,  and 
replaced  by  a  benignant  angel,  -wiping  away  all  tears,  healing  nil 
pain,  burying  in  oblivion  all  sorrow  and  care,  calming  every 
turbulent  passion,  and  restoring  man,  reconciled  to  his  Maker,  to 
ft  state  of  purity  and  peace  ;  young  and  old  would  then  go  forth 
to  meet  him  with  lighted  torches,  and  hail  his  approach  witli 
songs  of  thanksgiving  and  welcome. 

And  this  is  really  the  case  with  all  but  the  desperately  Avickcd, 
who  show  that  they  despise  tho  magnificent  boon  of  life  by  the 
bad  use  they  make  of  it,  by  their  blasphemous  defiance  of  God 
and  good,  and  their  unwillingness  to  bo  renewed  in  his  imago. 

Tho  death  angel  is  generally  met  with  more  calnmess  by  tho 
dying  than  by  surviving  friends.  By  tho  former,  tho  dreaded 
enemy  is  hailed  as  a  messenger  of  peace,  and  they  sink  tranquilly 
into  his  arms,  with  a  smile  upon  their  li[)8. 

Tho  death  of  tho  Christian  is  a  beautiful  triumph  over  tho  fears 
of  life.  In  Ilim  who  conquered  death,  and  led  captivity  captive, 
he  finds  tho  fruition  of  his  being,  tho  eternal  blessedness  pro- 
mised to  him  in  tho  Gospel,  which  places  him  beyond  tho  wants 
and  woes  of  time.  The  death  of  such  a  man  should  be  celebi  ated 
as  a  sacred  festival,  not  lamented  as  a  dreary  execution, — as  tho 
era  of  a  now  birth,  not  the  extinction  of  being. 

It  is  true  that  death  is  a  profound  sleep,  from  which  no  ono 
can  awaken  to  tell  bis  dreams.  But  why  on  that  account  should 
we  doubt  that  it  is  less  blessed  than  its  t«vin  brother,  whoso 
resomblp,nce  it  bears,  and  whose  presence  we  all  sedulously 
court?  Invest  sleep,  however,  with  the  same  dismal  garb;  let 
your  bed  be  a  coflSn,  your  canopy  a  pall,  your  night-dress  a 
shroud;  let  the  sobs  of  mourners,  and  the  tolling  of  bells  lull 
you  to  repose. — and  few  persons  would  willingly,  or  tranquilly, 
close  their  eyes  to  sleep. 

And  then,  this  absurd  fashion  of  wearing  black  for  months  and 
years  for  tho  dead ;  let  us  calmly  consider  the  philosophy  of  tho 
thing,  its  use  and  abuse.  Does  it  confer  any  benefit  on  the  dead  ? 
Does  it  aflFord  any  consolation  to  the  living  ?  Morally  or  physic- 
ally, does  it  produce  the  least  good  ?    Does  it  soften  ono  regretful 


I 


i, 


LIKK    IN    TIIU    CLUAKIKG8. 


14.5 


pftnpr,  or  dry  ono  bitter  tcnr,  or  rn.iko  tlio  woftrcrs  w!(M)r  or  better? 
If  it  does  not  produce  any  ultiiimto  beiietit,  it  sliould  bo  nt  otico 
discarded  as  a  Huporstitious  relic  of  more  barbarous  times,  Avbeii 
men  could  not  gazo  on  tbo  mniple,  unveile<l  faco  of  trutb,  but 
obscured  tbo  clear  daylight  of  her  glanco  under  a  thousand 
fantastic  masks. 

Tbo  ancients  were  more  consistent  in  their  mourning  than  the 
civilized  people  of  tbo  present  day.  They  sat  upon  the  ground 
und  fasted,  witli  rent  garnjonts,  and  ashes  strewn  upon  tiicir 
Iieads.  This  mortification  of  tho  flesh  was  a  sort  of  peuanco  in- 
flicted by  the  self-tortured  mourner  for  his  own  sins,  and  tlnso 
of  tho  dead.  If  this  grief  Avero  not  of  a  deep  or  lasting  nature, 
the  mourner  found  relief  for  his  mental  agonies  in  humiliatiou 
and  personal  suflbring.  Ho  did  not  array  himself  in  silk,  and 
wool,  and  fine  linen,  and  garments  cut  in  tho  most  approved 
fashion  of  tho  day,  like  our  modem  beaux  and  belles,  when  they 
testify  to  tho  public  their  grief  for  tho  loss  of  relation  or  friend, 
in  tho  most  expensive  and  becoming  manner. 

Verily,  if  wo  must  wear  our  sorrow  upon  our  slcovo,  why  not 
return  to  tho  sackcloth  and  ashes,  as  tho  most  consistent  demon- 
stration of  that  grief  which,  hidden  in  tho  heart,  surpassoth 
show. 

But,  then,  sackcloth  is  a  most  unmanageable  material.  A 
handsome  flguro  would  be  lost,  buried,  auuihilated,  in  a  sack- 
cloth gown ;  it  would  bo  so  horribly  rough ;  it  would  wound  tho 
delicate  skin  of  a  fine  lady ;  it  could  not  bo  confined  in  graceful 
folds  by  clasps  of  jet,  and  pearl,  and  ornaments  in  black  and  gold. 
"Sackcloth?  Faugh! — away  with  it.  It  smells  of  the  knotted 
scourge  and  the  charnel-house."  We,  too,  say,  "  Away  with  it!" 
True  grief  has  no  need  of  such  miserable  provocatives  to  woe. 

Tho  barbarians  who  cut  and  disfigured  their  faces  for  the  dead, 
showed  a  noble  contempt  ^f  tho  world,  by  destroying  those  per- 
sonal attractions  which  the  loss  of  the  beloved  had  taught  them 
to  despise.  But  who  now  would  have  the  fortitude  and  self- 
denial  to  imitate  such  an  example?  The  mourners  in  crape,  and 
silk,  and  French  merino,  would  rather  die  themselves  than  sacri- 
fice their  beauty  at  the  shrine  of  such  a  monstrous  sorrow. 

How  often  have  I  heard  a  knot  of  gossips  exclaim,  as  some 


146 


LIFE   IN    TUi;    CLEARINGS. 


^      I 


w7,(low  of  a  gentleman  in  fallen  circuuistancos  glided  by  in  her 
rusty  weods,  "  What  shabby  black  that  -woman  wears  for  lier 
husband  1  I  should  be  aahamod  to  api^ear  in  public  in  such  faded 
mourning." 

And  yet,  the  purchase  of  that  shalhy  Maclc  may  have  cost  tlio 
desolate  mourner  and  lier  orphan  children  the  price  of  many  a 
necessary  meal.  Ah,  this  putting  of  a  poor  family  into  black, 
and  all  the  funeral  trappings  fur  pall-beare-s  and  mourners,  -wiiat 
a  terrible  afiuir  it  is!  what  anxious  thoughts!  v^hat  bitter  heart- 
aches it  costs ! 

But  the  usages  of  society  demand  the  sacrifice,  and  it  must  bo 
made.  The  head  of  the  family  lias  suddenly  been  removed  from 
his  earthly  toils,  at  i  most  complicated  crisis  of  his  affairs,  which 
are  so  involved  that  scarcely  enough  can  bo  collected  to  pay  tlio 
expenses  of  tbo  funeral,  and  put  his  family  into  decent  mourning, 
but  every  exertion  .lust  bo  made  to  do  this.  The  money  tb  tt 
might,  after  the  fune  'al  was  over,  have  paid  the  rent  of  a  sn:  all 
house,  and  secured  the  widow  and  her  young  family  from  actual 
Wint,  until  she  could  look  around  and  obtain  some  situation  in 
-phicb  she  could  earn  a  living  for  herself  and  them,  must  all  be 
sunk  in  conforming  to  a  useless  custom,  upheld  by  pride  and 
vanity  in  the  name  of  grief. 

"How  will  the  funeral  expenses  ever  be  paid?"  exclaims  tlio 
anxious,  weeping  mother.  "  When  it  is  all  oVfei,  and  the  mourn- 
ing bought,  tliero  will  not  remain  a  single  copper  to  find  us  in 
bread."  The  sorrow  of  obtaining  th^s  useless  outward  show  of 
grief  engrosses  all  the  available  means  of  the  family,  and  that  is 
expended  upon  the  dead  Avhicli  might,  with  careful  management, 
have  kept  tb.e  living  from  starving.  Oh,  vanity  of  vanities! 
there  is  no  fo'ly  on  earth  that  exceeds  the  vanity  of  this ! 

There  are  L;iany  persons  who  put  ou  tholr  grief  when  they  put 
cr.  their  mourning,  and  it  is  a  miserable  satire  on  mankind  to 
see  these  sombre-clad  beings  in  festal  halls  mingling  with  the  gay 
and  happy,  their  melancholy  garments  affording  a  painful  con- 
trast to  light  laughter,  and  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure. 

Their  levity,  however,  must  not  be  mistaken  for  hypocrisy. 
The  world  is  in  fault,  not  they.  Their  grief  is  already  over, — 
gone  like  a  cloud  from  before  the  sun ;  but  they  ai"e  forced  to 


1 


«?^g5^^ 


LIFE    IN   TUB   CLEARINGS. 


147 


^ 


t 


wear  black  for  a  given  time.  Thoy  arc  true  to  their  nature, 
which  teaches  them  that  "no  grief  with  man  i.s  permanent," 
that  the  storms  of  to-day  will  not  darken  the  heavens  to-morrow. 
It  is  complying  with  a  li/i7ig  custom  that  makes  thorn  hypocrites ; 
and,  as  the  world  always  judges  by  appearances,  5t  so  liappens 
that  by  adhering  to  one  of  its  conventional  rules,  appearances  in 
this  instance  are  against  them. 

Nay,  the  very  persons  who,  in  the  first  genuine  outburst  of 
natural  grief  besought  them  to  moderate  their  sorrow,  to  dry 
tbeir  tears,  and  be  comforted  for  the  loss  they  had  sustained,  nvo 
among  tho  Jlrst  to  censure  them  for  following  advice  so  couiliou 
and  useless.  Tears  are  as  necessary  to  tho  afflicted  as  s'jowers 
are  to  the  parched  earth,  and  are  the  best  and  sweetest  'emedy 
for  excessive  grief. 

To  tho  mourner  we  would  say — Weep  on;  nature  requires 
yoiu*  tears.  They  are  sent  in  mercy  by  Him  who  wept  at  tho 
grave  of  his  friend  Lazarus.  Tho  man  of  sorrows  himself  taught 
us  to  weep. 

Wo  once  heard  a  very  beautiful  volatile  young  lady  exclaim, 
with  something  very  like  glee  in  her  look  and  tone,  after  reading 
a  letter  she  had  received  by  the  post,  with  its  ominous  black 
bordering  and  seal — "  Grandmamma  is  dead !  W(  shall  have  to 
go  into  deep  mourning.  I  am  so  glad,  for  black  is  so  becoming 
to  me!" 

An  old  aunt,  who  was  present,  expressed  her  surprise  at  this 
indecorous  avowal;  Avhen  the  young  lady  replied,  with  great 
nmvete — "  I  never  saw  grandmamma  in  my  hfo.  I  cannot  be 
expected  to  feel  .iny  grief  for  her  death." 

'' Perhaps  not,"  taid  the  aunt.  "  But  why,  then,  make  a  show 
of  that  whica  you  do  not  feel  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  the  custom  of  the  world.  You  know  we  must.  It 
would  be  considered  sTiocTcing  not  to  go  into  very  d^ep  mourning 
for  such  a  near  relation." 

The  young  ladT  inherited  a  very  nice  legacy,  too,  from  her 
grandmamma ;  and,  had  she  spoken  the  truth,  she  would  have 
said,  I  cannot  weep  far  joy, ^'' 

Her  mourning,  in  consequence,  was  of  the  deepest  and  most 
expensive  kind ;  and  she  really  did  look  charming  in  her  "  love  qf 


Ml 

r  \ 


'I 


MliNi 


i'  f-trnn'  -    ntn 


148 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


a  hlack  crape  bonnet  P^  as  she  skipped  before  tho  glass,  admir- 
ing herself  and  it,  when  it  came  home  fresh  from  the  milline)  s. 

In  contrast  to  the  pretty  young  heiress,  we  knew  a  sweet 
orphan  girl  whose  grief  for  the  death  of  her  mother,  to  whom 
she  was  devotedly  attached,  lay  deeper  than  this  hollow  tinsel 
show ;  and  yet  the  painful  thought  that  she  was  too  poor  to  pay 
this  mark  of  respect  to  tho  memory  of  her  beloved  parent,  in  a 
manner  suited  to  her  birth  and  station,  added  greatly  to  tho 
poignancy  of  her  sorrow. 

A  family  who  had  long  been  burthened  with  a  cross  old  aunt, 
who  was  ?  martyr  to  rheumatic  gout,  and  whose  violent  temper 
kept  the  whole  house  in  awe,  and  whom  they  dared  not  offend 
for  fear  of  her  leaving  her  wealth  to  strangers,  were  in  the  habit 
of  devoutly  wishing  the  old  ""y  a  Tiappy  release  from  her  suffer- 
ings. When  this  long  anticipated  event  at  length  took  place,  the 
very  servants  were  put  int^  the  deepest  mourning.  What  a 
solemn  farce — we  should  say.  He — was  this  1 

The  daughters  of  a  wealthy  iarmer  had  prepared  everything  to 
attend  the  great  agricultural  provincial  show.  Unfortunately,  a 
grandfather  to  whom  they  all  seemed  greatly  attached,  died 
most  inconveniently  the  day  before,  and  as  they  seldom  keep  a 
body  in  Canada  over  the  second  day,  he  was  buried  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  one  appointed  for  their  journey.  They  attended 
the  remains  to  the  grave,  but  after  the  funeral  was  over  they  put 
off  their  black  garments  and  started  for  the  show,  and  did  not 
resume  them  again  until  after  their  return.  People  may  think 
this  very  shocking,  but  it  was  not  the  laying  aside  the  black  that 
was  so,  but  the  fact;  of  their  being  able  to  go  from  a  grave  to  a 
scene  of  confusion  and  gaiety.  The  black  clothes  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this  want  of  feeling,  which  would  have  remained  tho 
same  under  a  black  or  a  scarlet  vestment. 

A  gentleman  in  this  neighbourhood,  since  dead,  who  attended 
a  public  ball  the  same  week  that  he  had  seen  a  lovely  child  con- 
signed to  the  earth,  would  have  remained  the  same  heartless 
parent  dressed  in  the  deepest  sables. 

No  instance  that  I  have  narrated  of  the  business-like  manner 
in  'which  Canadians  treat  death,  is  more  ridiculously  striking 
than  the  following : — 


>J 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


149 


Tlio  wife  of  a  rich  mechanic  had  a  brother  lying,  it  was  sup- 
posed, at  the  point  of  death.  His  sister  sent  a  note  to  me,  re- 
questing me  to  relinquish  an  engagement  I  had  made  with  a 
sewing  girl  in  her  favour,  as  she  wanted  her  immediately  to 
make  up  her  mouniing,  the  doctor  having  told  her  that  her 
brother  could  not  live  many  days. 

"  Mrs. is  going  t*^  be  beforehand  with  death,"  I  said,  as  I 

gave  the  girl  the  desired  release.  "  I  have  known  instances  of 
persons  being  too  late  with  their  mourning  to  attend  a  funeral, 
but  this  is  the  first  time  I  over  heard  of  it  being  made  in  antici- 
pation." 

After  a  week  the  girl  returned  to  her  former  employment. 

"  Well,  Anne,  is  Mr. dead?" 

^o,  ma'am,  nor  likely  to  die  this  time ;  and  his  sister  is  bO 
vexed  that  she  bought  such  expensive  mourning,  and  all  for  no 
purpose !" 

The  brother  of  this  provident  lady  is  alive  to  this  day,  the 
husband  of  a  very  pretty  wife,  and  the  father  of  a  family,  while 
she,  poor  body,  has  been  consigned  to  the  grave  for  more  than 
three  years. 

During  her  own  dying  illness,  a  little  girl  greatly  disturbed  her 
sick  mother  with  the  noise  she  made.  Her  hcdband,  as  an  in- 
ducement to  keep  the  child  quiet,  said,  "  Mary,  if  you  do  not 
quit  that,  I'll  whip  you ;  but  if  you  keep  still  like  a  good  girl, 
you  shall  go  to  ma's  funeral." 

An  artist  cousin  of  mine  was  invited,  with  many  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Koyal  Academy,  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the  cele- 
brated NoUekens  the  sculptor.  The  party  filled  twelve  mourning 
coaches,  and  were  furnished  with  silk  gloves,  scarfs,  and  hatbands, 
and  a  dinner  was  provided  after  the  funeral  was  over  at  one  of 
tlie  large  hotels.  "  A  merrier  set  than  we  were  on  that  day," 
said  my  cousin,  "  I  never  saw.  We  all  got  jovial,  and  it  was 
midnight  before  any  of  us  reached  our  respective  homes.  The 
whole  affair  vividly  brought  to  my  mind  that  description  of  the 
'  Gondola,'  given  so  gi*aphically  by  Byron,  that  it 

*  Contain'd  much  fun, 
Like  mourning  coaches  when  the  funeral's  done.'  " 

Some  years  ngo  I  witnessed  the  funeral  of  a  young  lady,  the 


r*' 


"-^SaH^ 


■r.fj--^-.-^  '^xfeiinisvxvin 


150 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


only  child  of  very  wealthy  parents,  who  resided  in  Bedford-square. 
The  heiress  of  their  enviable  riches  was  a  very  delicate,  fragile- 
looking  girl,  and  on  the  day  that  she  attained  her  majority  her 
parents  gave  a  large  dinner  party,  followed  by  a  ball  in  the  eve- 
ning, to  celebrate  the  event.  It  was  during  the  winter;  the 
night  was  very  cold,  the  crowded  rooms  overheated,  the  young 
lady  thinly  but  magnificently  clad.  She  took  a  chill  in  leaving 
the  close  ball-room  for  tlie  large,  ill-warmed  supper-room,  and 
three  days  after,  the  hope  of  these  rich  people  lay  insensible  on 
her  bier. 

I  heard  from  every  one  that  called  upon  Mrs.  L ,  the 

relative  and  friend  with  whom  I  was  staying,  of  the  magnificent 

funeral  that  would  be  given  to  Miss  C .    Ah,  little  heeded 

that  pale  crushed  flower  of  yesterday,  the  pomp  that  was  to  con- 
vey her  from  the  hot-bed  of  luxury  to  the  cold,  damp  vault  of 

St.  Giles's  melancholy  looking  church !  I  stood  at  Mrs.  L 's 

window,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  square,  to 
watch  the  procession  pass  up  Kussell-street  to  the  place  of  inter- 
ment. The  morning  was  intensely  cold,  and  large  snow-flakes 
fell  lazily  and  heavily  to  the  earth.  The  poor  dingy  sparrows, 
with  their  feathers  ruflfled  up,  hopped  mournfully  along  the 
pavement  in  search  of  food ;  they, 

"In  spite  of  all  their  feathers,  were  a-cold." 

The  mutes  that  attended  the  long  line  of  mourning  coaches 
stood  motionless,  leaning  ou  their  long  staffs  wreathed  with 
white,  like  so  many  figures  that  the  frost-king  had  stiffened  into 
stone.  The  hearse,  with  its  snowy  plumes,  drawn  by  six  milk- 
white  horses,  might  have  served  for  the  regal  car  of  his  northern 
majesty,  so  ghost-like  and  chilly  were  its  sepulchral  trappings. 
At  length  the  coflSn,  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  a  pall  lined 
with  white  silk  and  fringed  with  silver,  was  borne  from  the 
house  and  deposited  in  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  stately  hearse. 
The  hired  mourners,  in  their  sable  dresses  and  long  white  hat- 
bands and  scarfs,  rode  slowly  forward  mounted  on  white  horses, 
to  attend  this  bride  of  death  to  her  last  resting  place.  The  first 
three  carriages  that  followed  contained  the  family  physician  and 
Burgeon,  a  clergyman,  and  the  male  servants  of  the  house,  in 


r 

4 


1^ 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


151 


i 


fJ-jep  sables.  Tho  family  carriage  too  was  there,  but  empty,  and 
of  a  procession  in  which  145  private  carriages  made  a  conspicu- 
ous show,  all  but  those  enumerated  above  were  empty.  Strangers 
drove  strange  horses  to  that  vast  funeral,  and  hired  servants  wore 
tho  only  members  of  the  family  that  conducted  the  last  scion  of 
that  family  to  tho  grave.  Truly,  it  was  tho  most  dismal  specta- 
cle we  ever  witnessed,  and  we  turned  from  it  sick  at  heart,  and 
with  eyes  moist  with  tears — not  shod  for  the  dead,  for  she  had 
escaped  from  this  vexatious  vanity,  but  from  tho  heartless  mock- 
ery of  all  this  fictitious  woe. 

The  expense  of  such  a  funeral  probably  involved  many  hundred 
pounds,  which  had  boon  better  bestowed  on  charitable  purposes. 

Another  evil  arising  out  of  this  absurd  custom,  is  tho  high 
price  attached  to  black  clothing,  on  account  of  the  necessity  that 
compels  people  to  wear  it  for  so  long  a  period  after  the  death  of 
.a  near  relation,  making  it  a  matter  of  still  greater  difficulty  for 
tho  poorer  class  to  comply  ■N'^ith  the  usages  of  society. 

"  But  who  cares  about  the  poor,  whether  tliey  go  into  mourn- 
ing for  their  friends  or  no?  it  is  a  matcer  of  no  consequence." 

Ah,  there  it  is.  And  this  is  not  tho  least  forcible  argument 
we  have  to  advance  against  this  useless  custom.  K  it  becomes  a 
moral  duty  for  the  rich  to  put  on  black  for  the  death  of  a  friend, 
it  must  be  morally  necessary  for  the  poor  to  do  the  same.  We 
see  no  dilFerence  in  tho  degrees  of  moral  feeling ;  the  soul  of 
man  is  of  no  rank,  but  of  equal  value  in  our  eyes  whether  belong- 
ing to  rich  or  poor.  But  this  usage  is  so  general,  and  the  neglect 
of  it  considered  such  a  disgrace,  that  it  leaves  a  very  wide  door 
open  for  tho  entrance  of  false  pride. 

Poverty  is  an  evil  which  most  persons,  however  humble  their 
stations  may  be,  most  carefully  endeavour  to  conceal.  To  avoid 
an  exposure  of  their  real  circumstances,  they  will  deprive  them- 
selves of  the  common  necessaries  of  life,  and  incur  debts  which 
they  have  no  prospect  of  paying,  rather  than  allow  their  neigh- 
bours to  suspect  that  they  cannot  afford  a  handsome  funeral  and 
good  mournings  for  any  deceased  member  of  their  family.  If 
such  persons  would  but  follow  the  dictates  of  true  wisdom,  hon- 
esty, and  truth,  no  dread  of  the  opinion  of  others  should  tempt 
them  to  do  what  they  cannot  afford.    Their  grief  for  the  dead 


I 


\:\ 


iTiiwiWi'iraTmriii'iiiliiiiTTrriiitttM 


152 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKARINOS. 


't 


^ 


would  not  be  less  sincere  if  they  followed  the  body  of  the  beloved 
in  their  ordinary  costume  to  the  grave ;  nor  is  the  spectacle  less 
imposing  divested  of  all  the  solemn  foppery  which  attends  the 
funeral  of  persons  who  move  in  respectable  society. 

Some  years  ago,  when  it  was  the  fashion  in  England  (and  may 
be  it  remains  the  fashion  still)  to  give  black  silk  scarfs  and  hat- 
bands at  funerals,  mean  and  covetous  persons  threw  themselves 
in  the  way  of  picking  up  taese  stray  loaves  and  fishes.  A  lady, 
who  lived  in  the  same  town  with  me  after  I  waia  married,  boasted 
to  me  that  her  husband  (who  always  contrived  to  be  a  necessary 
attendant  on  such  occasions)  found  her  in  all  the  black  silk  she 
required  for  articles  of  dress,  and  that  he  had  not  purchased  a 
pair  of  gloves  for  many  years. 

About  two  years  before  old  King  George  the  Third  died,  a 
report  got  about  that  he  could  not  survive  many  days.  There 
was  a  general  rush  among  all  ranks  to  obtain  mourning.  Up 
went  the  price  of  black  goods ;  Norwich  crapes  and  bombazines 
rose  ten  per  cent.,  and  those  who  were  able  to  secure  a  black 
garment  at  any  price,  to  show  their  loyalty,  were  deemed  very 
fortunate.  And  after  all  this  fuss,  ard  hurry,  and  confusion,  the 
the  poor  mad  old  king  disappointed  the  speculators  in  sables,  and 
lived  on  in  darkness  and  mental  aberration  for  two  whole  years. 
The  mourning  of  some  on  that  occasion  was  real,  not  imaginary. 
The  sorrow  with  them  was  not  for  the  Mng^a  death,  but  that  ho 
bad  not  died.  On  these  public  occasions  of  grief,  great  is  the  stir 
and  bustle  in  economical  families,  who  wish  to  show  a  decent 
concern  for  the  death  of  the  monarch,  but  who  do  not  exactly 
like  to  go  to  the  expense  of  buying  new  clothes  for  such  a  short 
period  as  a  court  mourning.  All  the  old  family  stores  are  rum- 
maged carefully  over,  and  every  stuff  gown,  worn  ribbon,  or 
shabby  shawl,  that  can  take  a  black  dye,  Is  handed  over  to  tho 
vat ;  and  these  second-hand  black  garments  have  a  more  mourn- 
ful appearance  than  the  glossy  suits  of  the  gay  and  wealthy,  for 
it  is  actually  humihating  to  wear  such,  as  they  are  both  unbecom- 
ing to  the  young  and  old.  Black,  which  is  the  most  becoming 
and  convenient  color  for  general  wear^  especially  to  the  old  and 
middle-aged,  would  no  longer  be  regarded  with  religious  horror 
as  the  type  of  mortality  and  decay,  but  would  take  its  place  on 


V 

b 
c 

II 


LIFE   IN  THE   CLEARINGS. 


153 


the  same  shelf  with  the  gay  tints  that  form  the  motley  groups 
in  our  handsome  stores.  Could  influential  people  be  found  to 
expose  the  folly  and  vanity  of  this  practice,  and  refuse  to  comply 
with  its  demands,  others  would  soon  be  glad  to  follow  their 
example,  and,  before  many  years,  it  would  sink  into  contempt 
and  disuse. 

If  the  Americans,  the  most  practical  people  i:*  the  world, 
would  but  once  take  up  the  subject  and  publicly  lecture  on  its 
absurdity,  this  dismal  shadow  of  a  darker  ago  would  no  longer 
obscure  our  streets  and  scare  our  little  ones.  Men  ^.vould  wear 
their  grief  in  their  hearts  and  not  around  their  hats ;  and  widows 
would  be  better  known  by  their  serious  deportment  than 
by  their  weeds.  I  feel  certain  that  every  thinking  person,  who 
calmly  investigates  the  subject,  will  be  tempted  to  exclaim  with 
rae,  "  Oh,  that  the  good  sense  of  mankind  would  unite  in  banish- 
ing it  for  ever  from  the  earth  1" 


THE  SONG  OF  FAITH. 

"  House  of  clay  ! — frail  house  of  clay  ! 
In  the  dust  thou  soon  must  lie  ; 
Spirit !  spread  thy  wings — away, 
Strong  in  inunortality ; 
To  worlds  more  bright 
Oh  wing  thy  flight. 
To  win  the  crown  and  robe  of  light. 


"  Hopes  of  dust ! — false  hopes  of  dujit ! 
Smiling  as  the  morning  fair  ; 
Why  do  we  confiding  trust 
In  trifles  light  as  air  ? 
Like  flowers  that  wave 
Above  the  grave, 
Ye  cheer,  without  the  power  to  save, 


"  Joys  of  earth ! — vain  joys  of  earth, 
Sandy  your  foiuidations  be  ; 
Mortals  overrate  your  worth, 
Sought  through  life  so  eagerly. 
1* 


If 


I  ■ 


»~  ~...s.;w».-..)«uduHiiaaaHii 


164 


I 


LIFB    IN    THE   CLEARINGS. 

Too  soon  we  know 
That  tears  must  flow, — 
That  bliss  is  still  allied  to  woe  1 

"  Human  love ! — fond  human  love  ! 
We  have  worshipp'd    fc  thy  shrine ; 
Envying  not  the  saints  above, 

While  we  deem'd  thy  power  divine. 
But  ah,  thy  light, 
So  wildly  bright, 
Is  born  of  earth  to  set  in  night. 

"  Jjove  of  Leaven  ! — love  of  heaven  ! 

Let  us  pray  for  thme  increase  ; 
Happiness  by  tho«  is  giver., 

Hopes  and  joys  that  never  cease. 
With  thee  -we'j'  soar 
Death'H  dark  tide  o'e.', 
Where  earfh  can  stain  the  soul  no  more." 


V'l 


J    ■ 


CHAPTER  iX. 

"  Dear  merry  reader,  did  yoo  ever  hear. 

Whilst  travelling  on  the  world's  wide  beaten  road, 
The  curious  veasoning,  and  opinions  queer, 

Of  men,  who  never  in  their  lives  bestow'd 
One  hour  on  study ;  whose  existence  seems 

A  thing  of  course — a  practical  delusion — 
A  day  of  fi-owning  clouds  and  sunny  gleams — 

Of  pain  and  pleasure,  mlx'd  in  strange  confusion ; 
Who  feel  they  move  and  breathe,  they  know  not  why- 
Are  born  to  eat  and  drink,  aud  sleep  an  1  die." 


S.  M. 


The  shores  of  the  Prince  Edward  District  become  move  bold 
and  beautiful  as  the  steamer  pursues  her  course  up  ilio  "  Long 
Reach."  Magnificent  trees  clothe  these  rugged  banks  to  their 
very  summits,  and  cast  dense  shadows  upon  the  waters  that  slum- 
tor  at  their  feet.  The  slanting  rays  of  the  evening  sun  streiin* 
through  their  thick  foliage,  and  weave  a  network  of  gold  around 


iV 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAUINaS. 


165 


M. 

bold 

/heir 
lum- 


the  corrugated  trunks  of  tlio  huge  onk  and  maple  trees  that 
tower  fur  above  our  heads.  The  glorious  waters  arc  dyed  with 
a  tliousand  cliangofid  hues  of  crimson  and  saffron,  and  rellect 
from  thoir  unruffled  surface  the  gorgeous  tints  of  a  Canadian 
BUiiset.  The  pines,  with  their  liearse-liko  plumes,  loom  out  darkly 
against  the  glowing  evening  sky,  and  frown  austerely  upon  us, 
their  gloomy  aspect  aflbrding  a  striking  contrast  to  the  sun- 
lighted  leaves  of  the  feathery  birch  and  the  rock  elm.  It  is  a 
lonely  hour,  and  one  that  nature  seems  to  have  set  apart  for 
prayer  and  praise ;  a  devotional  spirit  seems  to  breathe  over  the 
earth,  the  woods,  and  waters,  softening  and  harmonising  the 
whole  into  one  blessed  picture  of  love  and  peace. 

The  boat  has  again  crossed  the  bay,  and  stops  to  take  in  wood 
nt  ''  Roblin's  wharf."  We  are  now  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
"  Lidian  woods,"  a  reserve  belonging  to  tho  Mohawks  in  the 
township  of  Tyendcnaga,  about  twenty -four  miles  by  water  from 
Bolloville.  A  broad  belt  of  forest  land  forms  the  background  to 
a  cleared  slope,  rising  gradually  from  the  water  imtil  it  reaches 
a  considerable  elevation  above  the  shore.  Tho  frontage  to  tho 
bay  13  filled  up  with  neat  farm-houses,  and  patches  of  buckwheat 
and  Indian  corn,  tlio  only  grain  that  remains  unharvested  at  this 
season  of  tlio  year.  We  have  a  fine  view  of  the  stone  church 
built  by  tho  Indians,  which  stands  on  tho  top  of  the  hill  about  a 
mile  from  tlio  water.  Queen  Anno  presented  to  this  tribe  three 
large  marble  tablets  engraved  with  the  Ten  Commandments, 
which,  after  following  them  in  all  their  ramblings  for  a  century 
and  a  half,  now  grace  tho  altar  of  this  church,  and  are  regarded 
with  great  veneration  by  the  Indian  settlers,  who  seem  to  look 
upon  thei/i  with  a  superstitious  awe.  The  church  is  built  in  tho 
Gothic  style,  and  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  village  churches 
that  I  have  seen  in  Canad.'\.  The  Indiana  contributed  a  great 
part  •)f  tho  funds  fer  erecting  this  building.  I  was  never  withia 
ihe  walls  ui'  the  sacred  edifice  ;  but  I  have  wandered  round  tho 
quiet  peaceful  burial-ground,  and  admired  the  lovely  prospect  it 
commauds  of  the  bay  and  the  opposite  shores. 

One  side  of  tlie  churchyard  is  skirted  by  a  natural  grove  of 
forest  trees,  which  separates  it  from  the  parsonat,e,  ?•  neat  white 
building  that  fronts  the  water,  and  stands  back  from  ii;  at  the 


156 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


heed  of  a  noblo  nweep  of  land  covered  with  velvet  turf,  and 
resembling  greatly  a  gcntlcuian's  park  at  homo,  by  the  fine  groups 
of  stately  lorest  trees  scattered  over  it,  and  a  semicircular  belt 
of  the  original  forest,  that,  sloping  from  the  house  on  either  side, 
extends  its  wings  until  it  meets  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  leav- 
ing between  its  green  arms  a  broad  space  of  cleared  land. 

The  first  time  my  eyes  ever  rested  on  this  beautiful  spot  it 
appeared  to  mo  a  perfect  paradise.  It  was  a  warm,  balmy,  moon- 
light evening  in  June.  The  rich  resinous  odour  of  the  woods 
filled  the  air  with  delicious  perfume ;  fire-flies  were  glancing  like 
shooting  stars  among  the  dark  foliage  that  hung  over  tho  water, 
and  the  spirit  of  love  and  peace  sat  brooding  over  the  luxurious 
solitude,  whose  very  silence  was  eloquent  with  praise  of  tho  great 
Maker.     How  I  envied  tho  residents  of  the  parsonage  their  lovely 

home  I  How  disappointed  I  felt,  when  Mrs.  G told  me  that 

she  felt  it  dull  and  lonely,  that  she  was  out  of  society,  and  that 
the  Indians  were  very  troublesome  neighbours  1  Now,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  this  was  all  very  true,  and  that  I  should  have  felt  the 
samo  want  that  she  did,  after  the  bewitching  novelty  of  the 
scene  had  become  familiar ;  but  it  sadly  destroyed  the  romance 
and  poetry  of  it  to  me  at  the  time. 

This  part  of  the  township  of  Tyendenaga  belongs  almost  exclu- 
sively to  the  Mohawk  Indians,  who  have  made  a  large  settlement 
here,  while  the  government  has  given  them  a  good  school  for 
instructing  their  children  in  the  Indian  and  English  languages ; 
and  they  liave  a  resident  clergyman  of  the  EstablishmcHt  always 
at  hand,  to  minister  to  them  the  spiritual  consolations  of  reli- 
gion, and  impart  to  them  the  bk    )d  truths  of  the  gospel.    Tho 

Rev.  S.  G was  for  some  years  the  occupant  of  the  pretty 

parsonage-liQuse,  and  was  greatly  beloved  by  his  Indian  congre- 
gation. 

Tho  native  residents  of  these  woods  clear  farms,  and  build  and 
plant  like  their  white  neighbours.  They  rear  horses,  cattle,  and 
sheep,  and  sow  a  sufiicient  quantity  of  grain  to  secure  them  from 
wauo.  But  there  is  a  great  lack  of  order  and  regularity  in  all 
their  agricultural  proceedings.  They  do  not  make  half  as  much 
out  of  their  lands — which  they  suffer  to  lie  overgrown  with 
thorns  and  thistles — as  their  whl'^^  neighbours ;  and  their  domes- 


11^ 


n^:fy\ 


LIFB   IN    TUB   CLEARIKOS. 


167 


tic  arningeiTicnts  within  doors  nro  novor  umrkod  by  tlmt  appoftr- 
nnce  of  comfort  and  cleanliness,  which  is  to  bo  seen  in  the 
dwellings  of  the  native  Canadians  and  emigrants  from  Europe. 

The  red  man  is  out  of  his  element  when  ho  settles  qnietly  down 
to  a  farm,  and  you  perceive  it  at  a  glance.  Ho  never  appears  to 
advantage  as  a  resident  among  civilized  men;  and  ho  seems 
painfully  conscious  of  his  inferiority,  and  ignorance  of  the  arts 
of  life.  He  has  lost  his  indentity,  as  it  were,  and  when  ho 
attempts  to  imitate  the  customs  and  manners  of  the  whites,  ho 
is  too  apt  to  adopt  their  vices  without  acquiring  their  industry 
and  perseverance,  and  sinks  into  a  sottish,  degraded  savage.  The 
proud  independence  wo  admired  so  much  in  the  man  of  the 
woods,  has  disappeared  with  his  truthfulness,  honesty,  and  sim- 
ple manners.  His  pure  blood  is  tainted  with  the  dregs  of  a 
lower  humanity,  degenerated  by  the  want  and  misery  of  over- 
populous  European  cities.  His  light  eyes,  crisp  hair,  and  whitey- 
brown  complexion,  too  surely  betray  his  mixed  origin ;  and  we 
turn  from  the  half-educated,  half-caste  Indian,  with  feelings  of 
aversion  and  mistrust. 

There  is  a  Mohawk  family  who  reside  in  this  township  of  the 
name  of  Loft,  who  have  gained  some  celebrity  in  the  colony  by 
their  clever  representations  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  their 
tribe.  They  sing  Indian  songs,  dance  the  war-dance,  hold  coun- 
cils, and  make  grave  speeches,  in  the  characters  of  Indian  chiefs 
and  hunters,  in  an  artistic  manner  that  would  gain  the  applause 
of  a  more  fastidious  audience. 

The  two  young  squaws,  who  were  the  principal  performers  in 
this  travelling  Indian  opera,  were  the  most  beautiful  Indian 
women  I  over  beheld.  There  was  no  base  alloy  in  their  pure 
native  blood.  They  had  the  large,  dark,  humid  eyes,  tlie  ebon 
locks  tingea  with  purple,  so  peculiar  to  their  race,  and  which 
gives  such  a  rich  tint  to  the  clear  olive  skin  and  brilliant  white 
teeth  of  the  denizens  of  the  Canadian  wilderness. 

Susannah  Loft  and  her  sister  were  the  heau  ideal  of  Indian 
women ;  and  their  graceful  and  symmetrical  figiiros  were  set  off 
to  great  advantage  by  their  picturesque  and  becoming  costume, 
which  in  their  case  was  composed  of  the  richest  materials.    Thei":* 


li 


158 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEARINOB. 


f 


acting  and  cfirrinRO  wore  dlgnifled  and  qnoon-llko,  and  tlielr  ap- 
pearance singularly  pleasing  and  interesting. 

Sasannah,  the  eldest  and  certainly  the  most  graceful  of  these 
truly  fascinating  girls,  was  unfortunately  killed  last  summer  hy 
the  collision  of  two  steam-carriages,  while  travelling  profession- 
ally with  her  sister  through  tho  States.  Those  who  had  listened 
with  charmed  ears  to  her  sweet  voice,  and  gazed  with  admiring 
eyes  upon  her  personal  charms,  were  greatly  shockci'  at  her 
untimely  death. 

A  little  hoy  and  girl  belonging  to  the  same  talented  family  have 
been  brought  before  the  public,  in  order  to  supply  her  place,  but 
they  have  not  been  able  to  fill  up  the  blank  occasioned  by  her 
loss. 

Tho  steamboat  again  leaves  tho  north  shore,  and  stands  across 
for  tho  stone  mills,  which  are  in  tho  Prince  Edward  district,  and 
form  one  of  tho  features  of  the  remarkable  scenery  of  what  is 
called  the  "high  shore."  This  mnmtainous  ridge,  which 
descends  perpendicularly  to  the  water  s  edge,  is  still  in  forest ; 
and,  without  doubt,  this  is  tho  most  romantic  portion  of  tho 
bay,  vvlioso  waters  are  suddenly  contracted  to  half  their  former 
dimensions,  and  glide  on  darkly  and  silently  between  these  steep 
wood-crowned  heights 

There  is  a  small  lake  upon  the  highest  portion  of  this  table- 
land, wdiose  waters  are  led  down  the  steep  bank,  and  made  to 
work  a  saw-mill,  which  is  certainly  giving  a  very  unromantic 
turn  to  them.  But  here,  as  in  tho  States,  the  beautiful  and  tho 
ideal  are  instantly  converted  into  the  real  and  the  practical. 

This  "  lake  of  tho  mountains  "  is  a  favourite  place  for  pic-nics 
and  pleasure  trips  from  Northport  and  Belleville.  Here  the  Sab- 
bath-school children  come,  once  during  tho  summer,  to  enjoy  a 
ramble  in  tho  woods,  and  spread  their  feast  beneath  the  lordly 
oaks  and  maples  that  crown  these  heights.  And  the  teetotallers 
marshal  their  bands  of  converts,  and  hold  their  cold  water  festi- 
val, beside  the  blue  deep  waters  of  this  mysterious  mountain- 
lake. 

Strange  stories  are  told  of  its  unfathomable  depth,  of  the 
quicksands  that  are  found  near  it,  and  of  its  being  supplied  from 


r 


LIFB   IN   ins   CLEARINGS. 


150 


tho  far-ofF  inland  oooan  of  Lake  Iliiron.  But  liko  the  covo  in 
Tyendcnaga,  of  which  ovorybody  in  tho  neighbourhood  lias  heard 
Boraothing,  but  which  nobody  liaw  Bcon,  tlieso  accounts  of  tho 
lake  of  tho  mountain  rest  only  upon  hearsay. 

Tho  last  rays  of  tho  sun  still  lingered  on  wood  and  stream  when 
wo  arrived  at  Picton,  which  stands  at  tho  head  of  tho  "  long 
reach."  Tho  bay  hero  is  not  wider  than  a  broad  river.  Tho 
banks  aro  very  lofty,  and  enclose  tho  water  in  an  oblong  form, 
round  which  that  part  of  tho  town  whioh  is  near  tho  shore  is 
built. 

Picton  is  a  very  beautiful  place  viewed  from  tho  deck  of  tho 
steamer.  Its  situation  is  novel  and  imposing,  and  tho  number 
of  pretty  cottages  that  crown  tho  steep  ridge  that  rises  almost 
perpendicularly  from  tho  water,  peeping  out  from  among  tino 
orchards  in  full  bearing,  and  trim  gardens,  give  it  quite  a  rural 
appearance.  Tho  steamboat  enters  tins  fairy  bay  by  a  very  nar- 
row passage ;  and,  after  delivering  freight  and  passengers  at  the 
wharf,  backs  out  by  the  way  she  carao  in.  There  is  no  turning 
a  largo  vessel  round  this  long  half-circle  of  deep  blue  water. 
Few  spots  in  Canada  would  afford  a  finer  subject  for  the  artist's 
pencil  than  this  small  inland  town,  which  is  so  seldom  visited  by 
strangers  and  tourists. 

The  progress  to  wealth  and  importance  mado  by  this  place  is 
strikingly  behind  that  of  Belleville,  which  far  exceeds  it  in  size 
and  population.  Three  years  ago  a  very  destructive  fire  con- 
sumed some  of  the  principal  buildings  in  tho  town,  which  has 
not  yet  recovered  from  its  effects.  Trade  is  not  so  brisk  hero  as 
in  Belleville,  and  the  streets  are  dull  and  monotonous,  when  com- 
pared with  the  stir  and  bustle  of  the  latter,  which,  during  tlio 
winter  season,  is  crowded  with  sleighs  from  tho  country.  Tho 
Bay  of  Quinte  during  the  winter  forms  an  excellent  road  to  all 
the  villages  and  towns  on  its  shores.  Tho  people  from  the  oppo- 
site side  trade  more  with  tho  Belleville  merchants  than  with 
those  in  their  own  district ;  and  during  tho  wini  r  season,  when 
the  bay  is  completely  frozen  from  the  mouth  of  tho  Trent  to 
Kingston,  loaded  teams  aro  passing  to  and  fro  continually.  It  is 
the  favourite  afternoon  drive  of  yoang  and  old,  and  when  tho 
wind,  sweeping  over  such  a  broad  surface  of  ice,  is  not  too  cold, 


H 


i    '■   ! 


L-^l 


160 


LIFE   IN   THS    CLEARINGS. 


I 


and  you  are  well  wrapped  up  in  furs  and  buffalo  robes,  a  sleigh- 
ride  on  the  7ce  is  very  delightful.  Not  that  I  can  ever  wholly 
divest  myself  of  a  vague,  indistinct  sense  of  danger,  whilst 
rapidly  gliding  over  this  frozen  mirror.  I  would  rather  be  out 
on  the  bay,  in  a  gale  of  wind  in  a  small  boat,  than  overtaken  by 
a  snow  storm  on  its  frozen  highways  Still  it  is  a  pleasant  sight 
of  a  bright,  glowing,  winter  dr.y,  when  the  landscape  glitters  like 
a  world  composed  of  crystals,  to  watch  the  handsome  sleighs, 
filled  with  well-dressed  men  and  women,  and  drawn  by  spirited 
horses,  dashing  in  all  directions  over  this  brilliant  field  of  dazzling 
white. 

Night  has  fallen  rapidly  upon  us  since  we  left  Picton  in  the  dis- 
tance. A  darker  shade  is  upon  the  woods,  the  hills,  the  waters, 
and  by  the  time  we  approach  FreJericksburgh  it  will  be  dark. 
This  too  is  a  very  pretty  place  on  the  north  side  of  the  bay ; 
beautiful  orchards  and  meadows  skirt  the  water,  and  fine  bass- 
wood  and  willow-trees  grjw  bf^sidc,  or  bend  over  the  waves. 
The  green  smooth  meadows,  out  of  which  the  black  stumps  rotted 
long  ago,  show  noble  groups  of  hickory  and  butternut,  and  sleek 
fat  c<.)ws  are  reposing  beneath  them,  or  standing  mid-leg  in  the 
small  creek  that  warders  through  them  to  pour  its  fairy  tribute 
into  the  broad  bay. 

We  must  leave  the  deck  and  retreat  into  the  ladies'  cabin,  for 
the  air  from  the  water  grows  chilly,  and  the  sense  of  seeing  can 
.10  longer  be  gratified  by  remaining  where  wo  are.  But  if  you 
open  your  eyes  to  see,  and  your  ears  to  hear,  all  the  strange  say- 
ings and  doings  of  the  odd  people  you  meet  in  a  steamboat,  you 
will  never  lack  amusement. 

The  last  time  I  went  down  to  Kingston,  there  was  a  little  girl 
in  the  cabin  v.  ho  rejoic>»d  in  the  possession  of  a  very  large 
American  doll,  made  so  nearly  to  resemble  an  infant,  that  at  a 
distance  it  was  easy  to  mistake  it  for  one.  To  render  the  decep- 
tion more  striking,  you  could  make  it  cry  like  o,  child  by  pressing 
your  hand  upon  its  body.  A  thin,  long-faced  farmer's  wife  came 
on  board,  at  the  wharf  we  have  just  quitted,  and  it  was  umusing 
to  watch  her  alternately  gazing  at  the  little  girl  and  lier  doll. 

"  Is  that  your  baby,  Cisy  ?" 

"No;  it's  my  doll." 


H 


hi 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLRAniXGS. 


IGl 


"^i!  what  a  strange  doll !  Isn't  that  something  oncommon 7 
I  took  it  for  a  real  child.  Look  at  its  bare  feet  and  hands,  and 
bald  head.  Well,  I  don't  think  it's  'zactly  right  to  make  a  piece 
of  wood  look  so  like  a  human  critter." 

Tlio  child  good-naturedly  put  the  doll  into  the  woman's  hands, 
who,  happening  to  take  it  rather  roughly ,  the  wooden  baby  gave 
a  loud  squall ;  the  woman's  face  expressed  the  utmost  horror, 
and  she  dropped  it  on  the  floor  as  if  it  had  been  a  hot  coal. 

'•  Gracious,  goodness  me,  the  thing's  alive  I" 

The  little  girl  laughed  heartily,  and,  taking  up  the  discarded 
doll,  explained  to  the  woman  the  simple  method  employed  to 
produce  the  sound. 

'  Well  it  do  sound  quite  nata/ral^^  said  her  astonished  com- 
panion. "  What  will  they  find  out  next?  It  beats  the  railro«  I 
and  the  telegraph  holler." 

"  Ah,  but  I  saw  a  big  doll  that  could  speak  when  I  was  with 
mamma  in  New  York,"  said  the  child,  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  A  doll  that  could  speak  ?    You  don't  say.    Oh,  do  tell '" 

While  the  young  lady  described  the  automaton  doll,  it  was 
amusing  to  watch  the  expressions  of  surprise,  wonder,  and  curi- 
osity, that  flitted  over  the  woman's  long  cadaverous  face.  She 
would  have  rnade  a  good  study  for  a  painter. 

A  young  relative  of  jiine  went  down  in  the  steamboat,  to  be 
present  at  the  Provincial  Agricultural  Show  that  was  held 
that  year  in  the  town  of  Buckville,  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  It 
was  the  latter  end  of  September;  the  weather  was  wet  and 
stormy,  and  the  boat  loaded  to  the  water's  edge  with  cattle  and 
passengers.  The  promenade  decks  were  filled  up  with  pigs 
sheep  and  oxen.  Cows  were  looking  sleepily  in  at  the  open  doors 
of  tlie  ladies'  cabin,  and  bulls  were  fastened  on  the  upper  deck. 
Such  a  motley  group  of  bipeds  and  ([uadrupeds  were  never  before 
huddled  into  such  a  narrow  space ;  and,  amidst  all  this  din  and 
confusion,  a  Scotch  piper  was  playing  lustily  on  the  bagpipes, 
greatly  to  the  edification,  I've  no  doubt,  of  himself  and  the 
crowd  of  animal  life  around  him. 

The  night  came  on  very  dark  and  stormy,  and  many  of  the 
women  suffered  as  much  from  the  pitching  of  the  boat  as  if  they 
had  been  at  sea.    The  ladies'  cabin  was  crowded  to  overfw  » iiug ; 


n 


,  li ' 


1G2 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


1-^ 


«)very  sofa,  bed,  and  chair  was  occupied  ;  and  ray  yonng  friend, 
who  did  not  feel  any  inconvenience  from  the  storm,  was  greatly 
entertained  by  the  dialogues  carried  on  across  the  cabin  by  tLe 
women,  who  were  reposing  in  their  berths,  and  lamenting  over 
the  rough  weather  and  their  own  sulFerings  in  consequence. 
They  were  mostly  the  wives  of  farmers  and  respectable  mechajiics, 
and  the  language  they  used  was  neitlior  very  choice  nor  gram- 
matical. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  C ,  how  bo  you  ?" 

"  I  feel  bad,  any  liow,"  with  a  smotliered  groan. 

"  Ilavo  you  been  sick  ?" 

"  Not  yet ;  but  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to." 

"How's  your  head  coming  on,  Mrs.  N ?" 

"  It's  just  splitting,  I  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  how  awful  the  boat  do  pitch !"  cries  a  third. 

"  If  she  should  sink,  I'm  afeard  wo  shall  all  go  to  the  bottom.'' 

"  And  think  of  all  the  poor  sheep  and  cattle  I" 

"  Well,  of  course,  they'd  have  to  go  too." 

"  Oh,  mi  I  I'll  get  up,  and  be  ready  for  a  start,  in  case  of  the 
worst,"  cried  a  young  girl. 

"  Mrs.  C ,  do  give  me  something  good  out  of  your  basket, 

to  keep  up  my  spirits." 

"  Well,  I  will.  Come  over  here,  and  you  and  I  will  have  somo 
talk.  My  basket's  at  the  foot  of  my  berth.  You'll  find  in  it  a 
small  bottle  of  brandy  and  some  crulls." 

So  up  got  several  of  the  sick  ladies,  and  kept  up  their  spirits 
b/  eating  cakes,  chewing  gum,  and  drinking  cold  brandy  punch. 

"  Did  Mrs,  H lose  much  in  the  fire  last  night  ?"  ^id  one. 

"Oh,  dear,  yes;  she  lost  all  her  clothes,  and  three  largo  jars 
of  preserves  she  made  about  a  week  ago,  and  sa/rce  in  accord- 
ance V* 

There  was  an  honest  Yorkshire  farmer  and  his  wife  on  board, 
and  when  the  morning  at  length  broke  through  pouring  rain  and 
driving  mist,  and  the  port  to  which  they  were  bound  loomed 
through  the  haze,  the  women  were  very  anxious  .o  know  if  their 
husbands,  who  slept  in  the  gentlemen's  cabin,  were  awake. 

"  They  arn't  stirring  yet,"  said  Mrs.  G ,  "  for  I  hear  Isaac 

*  A  common  Yankee  phrasei  often  nsed  instead  of  the  wovd  proportion. 


LIFB   IN   THE    CLEARINGB. 


^63 


friend, 
greatly 

by  the 
3g  over 
quencc. 
chaiiics, 
r  grain- 


)Ottoni."' 

e  of  the 

basket, 

,ve  sonio 
in  it  a 

spirits 
punch. 

id  one. 

rgo  jars 
accord- 

board, 
rain  and 
loomed 
if  their 
ce. 
ir  Isaac 

tion. 


(meaning  her  husband)  hreezing  below  " — a  most  expressive  term 
for  very  hard  snoring. 

The  same  Isaac,  wlien  ho  came  np  to  the  ladies'  cabin  to  tako 
his  V.  i  "e  on  shore,  complained,  in  his  broad  Yorkshire  dialect, 
that  he  had  been  kept  awake  all  night  by  a  jovial  gentleman  who 
h»'^  been  his  fellow-traveller  in  the  cabin. 

"  "We  had  terrible  noisy  chap  in  t'cabin.    They  called  him  Mr. 

D ,  and  said  he  'twas  t'mayor  of  Belleville ;  but  I  thought 

they  were  a-fooning.  He  wouldn't  sleep  himself,  nor  let  t'otliers 
sleep.  Ho  gat  piper,  an'  put  him  top  o'  table,  and  kept  him 
playing  all  t'night." 

One  would  think  that  friend  Isaac  had  been  haunted  by  tlio 
virion  of  the  piper  in  his  dreams ;  for,  certes,  the  jovial  buzzing 
of  the  pipes  had  not  been  able  to  drown  the  deep  drone  of  liis 
own  nasal  organ. 

A  gentleman  who  was  travelling  in  company  with  Sir  A 

told  me  an  anecdote  of  him,  and  how  he  treated  an  impertinent 
fellow  on  board  one  of  the  lake  boats,  that  greatly  amused 
me. 

The  state  cabins  in  these  largo  steamers  open  into  the  great 
saloon ;  and  as  they  are  often  occupied  by  married  people,  each 
berth  contains  two  beds,  one  placed  above  the  other.  Now  it 
often  happens,  when  the  boat  is  greatly  crowded,  that  two  pas- 
sengers of  the  same  sex  are  forced  to  occupy  the  same  sleeping 

room.    This  was  Sir  A 's  case,  and  he  was  obliged,  thougli 

very  reluctf^ntly,  to  share  his  sleeping  apartment  with  a  well- 
dressed  American,  but  evidently  a  man  of  low  standing,  from 
the  familiarity  of  his  manners  and  the  bad  grammar  he  used. 

In  the  morning,  it  was  necessary  for  one  gentleman  to  rise 
before  the  other,  aii  the  space  in  front  of  their  berths  was  too 
narrow  to  allow  of  more  than  one  performing  his  ablutions  at  a 
time. 

Our  Yankee  made  a  fair  start,  and  had  nearly  completed  his 
toilet,  when  he  suddenly  spied  a  tooth-brush  and  a  box  of  tooth- 
powder  in  the  dressing-case  his  companion  had  left  open  on  the 
washstand.  Upon  these  he  pounced,  and  having  made  a  liberal 
use  of  them,  flung  them  back  into  the  case,  and  sat  down  upon 
tJie  only  chair  tho  room  contained,  in  order  to  gratify  his  ourio- 


M  h 


1C4 


LIFE   IN   TIIB   CLEARINGS. 


•K,! 


sity  by  watching  how  his  sleeping  partner  went  throngh  the  saino 
pro'.eii.^. 

Sir  A ^  greatly  annoyed  by  the  fellow's  assurance,  got  out 

of  bed ;  and  placing  the  washhand  basin  on  the  floor,  put  his 
feet  into  the  water,  and  commenced  scrubbing  his  toe-nails  with 
the  desecrated  tooth-brush.  Jonathan  watched  his  movements 
for  a  few  seconds  in  silent  horror ;  at  length,  unable  to  contain 
himself,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Well,  stranger!  that's  the  dirtiest  use  1  ever  see  a  tooth-brush 
put  to,  any  how." 

"  I  saw  it  put  to  a  dirtier,  just  now,"  said  Sir  A ,  very 

coolly.     "  I  always  use  that  brush  for  cleaning  my  toes." 

The  Yankee  turned  very  green,  and  fled  to  the  deck,  but  his 
nausea  was  not  sea-sickness. 

The  village  of  Nappanee,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Bay,  is 
situated  on  a  very  pretty  river  that  bears  the  same  name, — 
Nappanee,  in  the  Mohawk  language,  signifying  flour.  The  village 
it»  a  mile  back  from  the  Bay,  and  is  not  much  seen  from  the  water. 
There  are  a  great  many  mills  here,  both  grist  and  saw  mills,  from 
which  circumstance  it  most  likely  derives  its  name. 

Amherst  Island,  which  is  some  miles  in  extent,  stands  between 
Ontario  and  the  Bay  of  Quinte,  its  uppar  and  lower  extremity 
forming  the  two  straits  that  aro  called  the  Upper  and  Lower 
Gap, — ^and  the  least  breeze,  which  is  not  perceptible  in  the  other 
portions  of  the  bay,  is  felt  here.  Passing  through  these  gaps  on 
a  stormy  day  creates  as  great  a  nausea  as  a  short  chopping  sea 
on  the  Atlantic,  and  I  have  seen  both  men  and  women  retreat  to 
their  berths  to  avoid  disagreeable  consequences.  Amherst  Island 
is  several  miles  in  extent,  and  there  are  many  good  farms  in  higli 
cultivation  upon  it,  while  its  proximity  on  all  sides  to  the  water 
affords  excellent  sport  to  the  angler  and  gunner,  as  wild  ducks 
abound  in  this  vicinity. 

Just  after  you  pass  the  island  and  enter  the  lower  gap,  there 
are  three  very  small  islands  in  a  direct  line  with  each  other,  that 
aro  known  as  the  Three  Brothers.  A  hermit  has  taken  up  his 
abode  on  the  centre  one,  and  built  a  very  Robinson  Crusoe  look- 
ing hut  near  the  water,  composed  of  round  logs  and  large  stones 
cemented  together  with  clay.    Ho  gets  his  living  by  fishing  and 


fow 
up  i 

0])tli 

indi 
coul 
in  81 
forts 
Tl 
of  tl 


;  ti.'- 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


165 


le  same 

got  out 
put  his 
lis  with 
I'einents 
contain 

th-brush 


— ,  very 
.  but  his 


)  Bay,  is 
name, — 
16  village 
16  water. 
Ills,  from 

)etween 

xtromity 

id  Lower 

he  other 

gaps  on 
ping  sea 
etreat  to 
st  Island 
in  high 

le  water 

id  ducks 

there 
kier,  that 
In  up  his 
toe  look- 
stones 
Ling  and 


1 


fowling,  and  you  see  his  well-worn,  woatlicr-hcaten  boat,  drawn 
up  in  a  little  cove  near  his  odd  dwelling.  I  was  very  curious  to 
obtain  some  particulars  of  the  private  history  of  this  eccentric 
individual,  but  beyond  what  I  have  just  related,  my  informants 
could  tell  me  nothing,  or  why  he  had  chosen  this  soliUiry  abode 
in  such  an  exposed  situation,  and  so  for  apart  from  all  the  com- 
forts of  social  life. 

The  toAvn  of  Bath  is  the  last  place  of  any  note  on  this  portion 
of  the  Bay,  until  you  arrive  at  Kingston. 

A  MORNING  SONG. 

"  The  young  wheat  ia  springing 

AH  tender  and  green, 
And  the  blackbird  ia  singing 

The  branches  between ; 
The  leavps  of  the  hawthorn 

Have  burst  fom  their  prison, 
And  the  bright  eyes  of  morn 

On  the  earth  have  arisen. 

"While  sluggards  are  sleeping, 

Oh  hasten  with  me  : 
While  the  night  mists  are  weeping 

Soft  showers  on  each  tree, 
And  nature,  ia  glowing 

Beneath  the  warm  beam, 
The  young  day  is  throwing 

O'er  mountain  and  stream. 


'  And  the  shy  colt  is  bounding 

Across  tho  wide  mead, 
And  bis  wild  hoofs  resounding, 

Increases  his  speed ; 
Now  starting  and  crossing 

At  each  shadow  he  soes, 
Now  wantonly  tossing 

His  mane  in  the  breeze. 


N 


100 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


■I     ' 


U 


"  Tho  sky-lark  is  shaking 

The  dew  from  her  wing, 
And  the  clover  forsaking, 

Soars  upwards  to  sing, 
Li  rapture  outpouring 

Her  anthem  of  iovo, 
Where  angels  adoring 

Waft  praises  above. 

"  Shako  dull  sleep  from  your  pillow, 

Young  dreamer  arise, 
On  the  leaves  of  the  willow 

The  dew-drop  still  lies, 
And  the  mavis  is  thrilling; 

His  song  from  tho  brake, 
And  with  melody  filling 

Tho  wild  woods — awake !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  I  DARK  not  tlilnk— I  cannot  pray ; 

To  name  the  name  of  God  were  sin : 
No  grief  of  mine  can  wash  away 

The  consciousness  of  guilt  within. 
The  stain  of  blood  is  on  my  hand, 

The  curse  of  Cain  is  on  tiy  brow  ;— 
I  seu  that  ghastly  phantom  stand 

Between  me  and  the  sunshine  now  I 
That  mocking  face  still  haunts  my  drcama, 

That  blood-shot  eye  that  never  sleeps, 
In  night  and  darkness — oh,  it  gleams, 

Like  red-hot  steel— but  never  weeps ! 
And  still  it  bends  its  burning  gaze 

On  mine,  till  drops  of  terror  start 
From  my  hot  brow,  and  hell's  fierce  blazo 

Is  kindled  in  my  bruin  and  heart. 
I  long  for  death,  yet  dare  not  die, 

Though  life  is  now  a  weary  curse ; 
But  oh,  that  dread  eternity 

May  bring  a  punishment  far  worse  I" 

So  mitcli  has  been  written  about  the  city  of  Kingston,  so  lately 
the  seat  of  government,  and  so  remarkable  for  its  fortifications, 


LIFB    IN    THE    0LBARINO9. 


167 


1,  so  lately 
tifications» 


and  the  importanco  it  ever  must  be  to  the  colony  jia  a  inilitAry 
depot  and  place  of  defence,  that  it  is  not  my  intention  to  enter 
into  a  minute  description  of  it  here.  I  waa  greatly  i  leased,  us  I 
think  every  stranger  must  bo,  with  its  general  aspect,  particularly 
us  seen  from  the  water,  in  which  respect  it  has  a  gre.it  rl van ta;?o 
over  Toronto.  The  number  of  vessels  lying  at  tha  dilfercnt 
wharfs,  and  the  constant  arrival  of  noble  steamers  both  from  the 
United  States  and  the  Upper  and  Lower  Province,  give  it  a  very 
bubiness-liko  appearance.  Yet,  upon  landing,  you  are  struck 
with  the  want  of  stir  and  bustle  in  the  principle  thorougli fares, 
when  contrasted  witli  the  size  and  magnitude  of  the  streets. 

The  removal  of  the  seat  of  goveniment  has  checked  the  growth 
of  Kingston  for  a  while;  but  you  feel,  while  examining  its  com- 
manding I  osition,  that  it  must  always  be  the  key  of  the  Up])cr 
Province,  ilio  great  rallying  point  in  case  of  war  or  danger.  The 
market  house  is  a  very  fine  building,  and  the  wants  of  the  citj 
could  be  supplied  within  its  area,  were  it  three  times  the  size 
that  it  is  at  present.  The  market  ia  decidedly  one  of  the  chief 
attractions  of  the  place. 

The  streets  are  wide  and  well  paved,  and  there  arc  a  great  many 
fine  trees  in  and  about  Kingston,  which  give  to  it  the  appearance 
of  an  European  town.  The  houses  are  chiefly  of  brick  and  stone 
along  the  public  thoroughfares,  and  there  are  many  neat  private 
dwellings  inclosed  in  trim  well-kept  gardens.  The  road  leading 
to  the  Provincial  Penitentiary  runs  parallel  with  the  water,  and 
forms  a  delightful  drive. 

It  is  about  three  years  ago  that  I  paid  a  visit  with  my  husband 
to  the  Penitentiary,  and  went  over  every  part  of  it.  I  must  own 
that  I  felt  a  greater  curiosity  to  see  the  convicts  than  tho  prison 
which  contained  them,  and  my  wishes  were  comiJctely  gratified, 
as  my  husband  was  detained  for  several  hours  on  business,  and  I 
had  a  long  interval  of  leisure  to  examine  the  workshops,  where 
the  convicts  were  employed  at  their  different  trades,  their  sleep- 
ing cells,  chapel,  and  plac«  s  of  punishment.  The  silent  system 
is  maintained  here,  no  conversation  being  allowed  between  tho 
prisoners.  I  was  surprised  at  the  neatness,  cleanliness,  order, 
find  regularity  of  all  the  arrangements  in  the  vast  building,  and 
still  more  astonished  that  forty  or  fifty  strong,  active  looking  men, 


^i 


168 


LIFE    IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


unfettered,  v/ ith  the  free  use  of  their  limbs,  could  be  controlled 
by  one  person,  who  sat  on  a  tall  chair  as  overseer  of  each  ward. 
In  several  instances,  particularly  in  the  tailoring  and  slioe-making 
department  the  overseers  were  small  delicate-looking  men  ;  but 
such  is  the  force  of  habit,  and  the  want  of  moral  courage  whicli 
generally  accompanies  gailt,  that  a  word  or  a  look  from  these 
men  was  sufficient  to  keep  them  at  work. 

The  dress  of  the  male  convicts  was  wari  iid  comfortable, 
though  c('<  'inly  not  very  olefr^at.  Uiiipliig  (^o>  it  was  'ate  in 
the  fall)  of  a  thick  woollen  jacket,  ow)  .iiilv  "f  it  being  brown, 
the  other  yellow,  with  trousers  t  cc  v.  li-i . ,  a  shirt  of  coarse 
factory  cotton,  but  very  clean,  and  gooa  stout  :  "^s,  and  warm 
knitted  woollen  socks.  The  letters  P.  P.  for  "Provincial  Peni- 
tentiary," are  sewed  in  coloured  cloth  upon  the  dark  side  of  the 
jacket.  Their  hair  is  cut  very  short  to  the  head,  and  they  wear 
a  cloth  cap  of  the  same  colours  that  compose  their  dress. 

The  cells  are  narrow,  just  wide  enough  to  contain  a  small  bed, 
a  stool,  and  a  wash-bowl,  and  the  prisoners  are  divided  from  each 
other  by  thick  stone  walls.  They  are  locked  in  every  night  at 
six  o'clock,  and  their  cell  is  so  constructed,  that  one  of  the  keep- 
ers can  always  look  in  upon  the  convict  without  his  being  aware 
of  the  scrutiny.  The  bedding  was  scrupulously  clean,  and  I 
saw  a  plain  Bible  in  each  cell 

There  is  a  sort  of  machine  resembling  a  stone  coffin,  in  which 
mutinous  convicts  are  confined  for  a  given  time.  They  Stand  in 
an  upright  position  ;  and  as  there  are  air-holes  for  breathing,  tlio 
look  and  name  of  the  thing  is  more  dreadful  than  the  punish- 
ment, which  cannot  be  the  least  painful.  I  asked  the  gentleman 
who  showed  us  over  the  building,  what  country  sent  the  most 
prisoners  to  the  "  Penitentiary  ?"  He  smiled,  and  told  me  to 
"  guess."    I  did  so,  but  was  wrong. 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  we  have  more  French  Canadians  and  men 
of  colour.  Then  Irish,  English,  and  runaway  loafers  from  the 
States.  Of  the  Scotch  we  have  very  few ;  but  they  are  very  bad 
— the  most  ungovernable,  sullen,  and  disobedient.  When  a 
Scotchman  is  bad  enough  to  be  brought  here,  he  is  like  Jeremiah's 
bad  figs — only  fit  for  the  gallows." 

Mr,  Hoodie's  bailiflfe  had  taken  down  a  young  fellow,  about 


1 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEARINGS. 


160 


trolled 
ward, 
naking 
n;  but 
I  -which 
ft  these 

brtable, 

'ato  in 

brown, 
f  coarse 
d  warm 
lal  Peni- 
le of  the 
hey  wear 

9. 

mall  bed, 
from  each 
night  at 
|tho  keep- 
,ng  aware 
lin,  and  I 

1  in  which 
5tand  in 
thing,  the 
le  puuish- 
jentleman 
Ithe  most 
lid  me  to 

land  men 
I  from  the 
\  very  bad 
I  When  a 
|eremiali'a 

)W,  about 


twenty  years  of  age,  wlu)  had  been  convicted  at  the  assizes  for 
stealing  curious  co  ns  frr  n  a  person  who  had  brought  them  out 


to  this  country  a^ 
cumstantial  than 
iuiiocert. 

lie  liad  kept  i. 
treated  with  grcn 


I  family  relics.     The  oviuonce  was  more  cir- 
sitivo,  and  man^   persons  believed   'he  lad 


his  b;  'rits  bravely  on  the  voy  igo,  and  was 
ivindnoss  by  the  men  wlio  had  him  in  custody  ; 
but  w'r'I  ouoe  within  the  raa'^f^y  vuiia  of  the  huge  building,  liis 
courage  seemed  to  forsake  him  all  at  once.  "Wo  passed  liim  as 
lie  sat  on  tlie  bench,  while  the  barber  was  cutting  his  hair  and 
^having  off  his  whiskers.  His  handsome  suit  had  been  removed 
— he  was  in  the  ])ai  ty-coloured  dress  before  described.  There 
was  in  his  face  an  expression  of  great  anguish,  and  tears  were 
rolling  in  quick  succession  down  his  cheeks.  Poor  fellow !  I 
should  hardy  have  known  him  again,  so  completely  was  he  hmn- 
blcd  by  his  present  position. 

Mr.  M y  told  me  that  they  had  some  men  in  the  "  Peniten- 
tiary "  who  had  returned  three  different  times  to  it,  and  had 
grown  so  attache  to  their  prison  that  they  preferred  being  there, 
well  clothed  and  well  fed,  to  gaining  a  precarious  living  else- 
where. 

Executions  in  Canada  are  so  rare,  even  for  murder,  that  many 
atrocious  criminals  are  found  within  these  walls — men  and  women 
— who  could  not  possibly  have  escaped  the  gallows  in  England. 

At  twelve  o'clock  I  followed  Mr.  M to  the  great  hall,  to 

see  the  prisoners  dine.  The  meal  consisted  of  excellent  soups, 
with  a  portion  of  the  meat  which  had  been  boiled  in  it,  potatoes, 
and  brown  bread,  all  very  clean  and  good  of  their  kind.  I  took 
a  jdate  of  the  soup  and  a  piece  of  the  bread,  and  enjoyed  both 
greatly. 

I  could  not  help  thinking,  while  watching  these  men  in  their 
comfortable  dresses,  taking  their  wholesome,  well-cooked  meal, 
iiow  much  better  they  were  fed  and  lodged  than  thousands  of 
honest  industrious  men,  who  had  to  maintain  largo  families  upon 
a  crust  of  breac,  in  the  great  manufacturing  cities  at  home. 

Moat  of  these  men  had  very  bad  countenances,  and  I  never 
felt  so  much  convinced  of  the  truth  of  phrenology  as  while  look- 
ing at  their  heads.    The  extraordinary  formation,  or  rather  mal- 

8 


L'« 


170 


LIFE    IN    inU    CLEARINGS. 


formation,  of  somo  of  thoin,  lod  me  to  tliink  that  tholr  possosflors 
woro  hardly  accountable  for  their  actions.  One  man  in  i)articu- 
Inr,  Avho  liad  committed  a  very  atrocious  murder,  and  -whs  con- 
iinod  for  life,  had  a  most  singular  head,  such  an  one,  indeed,  us  I 
never  before  saw  on  a  liuraan  body.  It  was  immensely  largo  at 
the  base,  and  appeared  perfectly  round,  while  at  the  crown  it 
rose  to  a  point  like  a  sugar-loaf.  lie  was  of  a  dull,  drab-colorod 
complexion,  with  largo  prominent  eyes  of  a  pale  gi*eon  color;  his 
expression,  the  most  repulsively  cruel  and  sinister.  The  eye 
involuntarily  singled  liim  out  among  all  his  comrades,  as  some- 
thing too  terrible  to  escape  observation. 

Among  such  a  number  of  men,  448,  who  were  there  present, 
I  was  surprised  at  seeing  so  few  with  red  or  fair  hair,  I  noticeil 
this  to  my  companion,  lie  had  never  observed  it  before,  but 
said  it  was  strange.  The  convicts  were  mostly  of  a  dull  grey 
complexion,  large  eyed,  stolid  looking  men,  or  with  very  black 
hair,  and  heavy  black  brows. 

I  could  only  account  for  this  circumstance  from  the  fact,  that 
tliough  fair-haired  people  are  often  violently  passionate  and  easily 
excited,  their  anger  is  sudden  and  quick,  never  premeditated,  but 
gr"  orally  the  work  of  the  moment.  lake  straw  on  a  fire,  it 
kindles  into  a  fierce  blaze,  but  it  is  over  in  an  instant.  They  sel- 
dom retain  it,  or  bear  malice.  Not  so  the  dull,  putty-colored, 
sluggisli  man.  IIo  is  slow  to  act,  but  ho  broods  over  a  supposed 
affront  or  injury,  and  never  forgets  it.  Ho  plans  the  moment  of 
retJiliation,  and  stabs  liis  enemy  when  least  prepared.  There 
were  many  stolid,  heavy-looking  men  in  that  i)rison — many  with 
black,  jealous,  fierj -looking  eyes,  in  whose  gloomy  depths  suspi- 
cion and  revenge  seemed  to  lurk.  Even  io  look  at  these  men  as 
they  passed  on,  seemed  to  arouse  their  vindictive  feelings,  and 
they  scowled  disdainfully  upon  us  as  they  walked  on  to  their 
respective  places. 

There  was  one  man  among  tliese  dark,  fierce-looking  criminals, 
who,  from  his  proud  carriage  and  bearing,  particularly  arrested 

my  attention.    I  pointed  him  out  to  Mr. .     "That  man  has 

tlie  appearance  of  an  educated  person.    lie  looks  as  if  he  had 
been  a  gentleman." 

"  You  are  right,"  was  liis  reply.    "  He  wa«  a  gentleman,  the 


a 

0 

1 
n 
n 
u 


LIFE    IS   TUB   CLEARINGS. 


171 


ticii- 

con- 
,  art  I 
go  lit 
wn  it 
)loro(l 
ir ;  liw 
0  eye 

some- 

rcaent, 
noticetl 
)ro,  but 

ill  gi't;y 
■y  black 

ict,  tbat 

nl  easily 
ed,  but 
firo,  it 
icy  sel- 
colored, 
apposed 
mcnt  of 
There 
iny  with 
13  Buspi- 
5  men  as 
ngs,  and 
to  their 

riminal?, 

I  arrested 

bian  has 

he  had 

Lan,  the 


Bon  of  a  district  judge,  and  brought  up  to  the  law.  A  clover 
man  too  ;  but  these  walls  do  not  contain  a  worse  in  every  rcs[)u(;t. 
lie  wjui  put  in  here  tor  arson,  and  an  attempt  to  murdt-r.  Many 
a  poor  man  has  been  hung  with  halt'  his  giiih." 

"  There  are  two  men  near  him,"  I  Haid,  "who  have  not  the 
appearance  of  criminals  at  all.     What  have  they  done  ?" 

"  They  are  not  feloiiH,  but  two  soldiers  put  in  lioro  for  a  week 
for  disorderly  conduct." 

"What  a  sliame,"  I  cried,  "  to  degrade  them  in  this  manner! 
What  good  can  it  do  ?" 

"  Oil,"  said  he,  laughing ;  "  It  -will  make  them  desert  to  the 
States  the  moment  they  get  out." 

"  And  those  two  little  boys  \  what  are  they  hero  for  ?" 
"  For  murder !"  whispered  he. 
,    I  almost  sprang  from  my  seat;  it  appeared  too  dreadful  to  bo 
true. 

"  Yes,"  ho  continued.  "  That  child  to  the  right  13  in  for  shoot- 
ing his  sister.  The  other,  to  the  left,  for  killing  a  boy  of  his  own 
age  with  a  hoe,  and  burying  iiim  under  the  roots  of  a  fallen  tree. 
Both  of  these  boys  come  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Peterboro.' 
Your  disti'ict,  by  the  bye,  sends  fewer  convicts  to  the  "  Peniten- 
tiary" than  any  part  of  the  Upper  Province." 

It  was  with  great  pleasure  I  heard  him  say  this.  During  a 
residence  of  thirteen  years  at  Belleville,  there  has  not  been  one 
execution.  The  county  of  Hastings  is  still  unstained  witli  the 
blood  of  a  criminal.  There  is  so  liitlo  robbery  committed  in  this 
part  of  tlio  country,  that  the  thought  of  thieves  or  housebreakers 
never  for  a  moment  disturbs  our  rest.  Tliis  is  not  the  case  in 
Hamilton  and  Toronto,  where  daring  acts  of  housebreaking  arc 
of  frequent  occurrence. 

The  constant  influx  of  runaway  slaves  from  the  States  ha.^ 
added  greatly  to  the  criminal  lists  on  the  frontier.  The  addition 
of  these  people  to  our  popidation  is  not  much  to  be  coveted. 
The  slave,  from  his  previous  habits  and  education,  does  not  always 
make  a  good  citizen.  During  the  last  assizes  at  Coburg,  a  black 
man  and  his  wife  were  condemned  t^  be  hung  for  a  most  horrible 
murder,  and  their  son,  a  young  man  of  twenty  years  of  age 
offered  the  sheriff  to  htvng  Ms  own  father  and  mother  for  a  new 


yf 


172 


UFB    IN    TUB    CLKAKINOS. 


r* 


Buit  of  clotljos.  Those  who  land  the  black  man,  and  placo  him 
above  tlio  •white,  let  them  produce  in  the  whole  annals  of  human 
crime  a  more  atrocious  one  than  this  I  Yet  it  teas  not  a  huhfjing 
matter. 

I  heard  a  gentleman  exclaim  with  honest  indignation,  when 
this  anecdote  was  told  in  his  hearing — ''If  a  man  were  wanting 
to  hang  that  monster,  I  would  do  it  myself." 

IJut  leaving  the  male  convict:*,  I  must  now  introduce  my  reader 
to  the  female  inmates  of  this  house  of  woo  and  crime.  At  the 
time  of  my  virtit,  there  were  only  forty  women  in  the  "  Peniten- 
tiary." This  speaks  much  for  the  superior  moral  training  of  the 
ftcbler  sex.  My  chief  object  in  visiting  their  department  was  to 
look  at  the  celebrated  nmrderess,  Grace  Marks,  of  whom  I  had 
heard  a  great  deal,  not  only  from  the  public  papers,  but  from  the 
gentleman  who  defended  her  upon  lier  trial,  and  whose  able  plead- 
ing saved  her  from  the  gallows,  on  which  her  wretched  accomi)lico 
closed  his  guilty  career. 

As  many  of  my  English  readers  may  never  liavo  heard  even  the 
name  of  this  remarkable  crituinal,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to 
them  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  events  which  placed  her  here. 

About  eight  or  nine  years  ago — I  write  from  memory,  and  am 
not  very  certain  as  to  dates — a  young  Irisli  emigrant  girl  was 
hired  into  the  service  of  Captain  Kinnaird,  an  officer  on  half-pay, 
who  had  jmrchased  a  farm  about  thirty  miles  in  the  rear  of 
Toronto ;  but  the  name  of  the  township,  and  the  county  in  which 
it  was  situated,  I  have  forgotton ;  but  this  is  of  little  consocpicnco 
to  my  narrative.  13oth  circunLstances  could  be  easily  asceitained 
by  the  curious.  The  captain  had  been  living  for  some  time  en 
very  intimate  terms  with  his  housekeeper,  a  handsome  young 
woman  of  the  name  of  Hannah  Montgomery,  Avho  had  been  liis 
servant  of  all  work.  Iler  familiarity  with  her  master,  who,  it 
appears,  was  a  very  fine-looking,  gei^tlemanly  person,  had  render- 
ed her  very  impatient  of  her  former  menial  employments,  and 
8he  soon  became  virtually  the  mistress  of  the  house.  Grace 
Marks  was  hired  to  wait  uj)on  her,  and  perforru  ail  the  coarse 
drudgery  that  Hannah  considered  herself  too  fine  a  lady  to  do. 

"While  Hannah  occupied  the  parlour  with  her  master,  and  sat 
at  his  table,  her  insolent  airs  of  superiority  aroused  the  jealousy 


V 

1 


LIFE    IM   THE    CLBARINQS. 


173 


and  onvy  of  Omco  Marks,  and  tlio  iimn-sorvant,  Mncdorinot,  wlio 
considered  tlieinselvos  (luito  buporior  to  their  soU-elected  inistrcHM. 
Mnoflenuot  wjis  tlie  y(»n  vl'  rospectublo  parents;  but  from  beiiif*  a 
wild,  ungovernable  boy,  ho  becanio  a  bad,  vicious  man,  and  early 
abandoned  the  parental  roof  to  enlist  for  a  soldier.  He  was  soon 
tired  of  his  new  profession,  and  deserting  from  his  regiment, 
escaped  detection,  and  emigrated  to  Canada.  Having  no  means 
of  his  own,  ho  was  glad  to  engage  with  Captain  Kinnaird  as  his 
servant,  to  whom  his  character  and  previous  habits  were  un- 
known. 

These  circumstances,  together  with  what  follows,  wore  drawn 
from  his  confession,  made  to  Mr.  Mac — ie,  Avlto  had  conducted 
his  defence,  the  night  previous  to  his  execution.  Perhaps  it  will 
be  better  to  make  him  tho  narrator  of  his  own  story. 

"Grace  Marks  was  hired  by  Captain  Kinnaird  to  wait  upon 
his  housekeeper,  a  few  days  after  I  entered  his  service,  She  was 
a  pretty  girl,  and  very  smart  about  her  work,  but  of  a  silent, 
sullen  temper.  It  was  very  difficult  to  know  when  she  wits 
pleased.  Her  ago  did  not  exceed  seventeen  years.  After  tho 
work  of  the  day  was  over,  she  and  I  generally  were  left  to  our- 
selves in  tlie  kitchen,  Hannah  being  entirely  taken  up  with  her 
master.  Grace  was  very  jealous  of  the  ditferenco  made  between 
lier  and  tho  housekeeper,  whom  she  l)atcd,  and  to  whom  she  was 
often  very  insolent  and  saucy.  Her  whole  conversation  to  mo 
was  on  this  subject.  'What  is  she  bettor  than  us?'  she  Avould 
say,  '  that  sho  is  to  be  treated  like  a  lady,  and  eat  and  drink  of 
tho  best.  Sho  is  not  better  born  than  wo  are,  or  better  educate<l. 
I  will  not  stay  here  to  bo  domineered  over  by  her.  Eitlier  sho 
or  I  must  soon  leave  this.'  Every  little  complaint  Hannah  mado 
of  me,  was  repeated  to  mo  with  cruel  exaggerations,  till  my 
dander  was  up,  and  I  began  to  regard  tho  unfortunate  woman  as 
our  common  enemy.  The  good  loo.  ^  of  Grace  had  interested 
me  in  her  cause  ;  and  though  there  woa  something  about  tho  girl 
that  I  could  not  exactly  like,  I  had  been  a  very  lawless,  dissii)at- 
ed  fellow,  and  if  a  woman  was  young  and  pretty,  I  cared  very 
little  about  her  character.  Grace  was  sullen  and  proud,  and  not 
very  easily  won  over  to  my  purpose ;  but  in  order  to  win  lier  liking^ 
if  possible,  I  gave  a  ready  ear  to  all  hor  discontented  repinings. 


uil 


174 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLEAniNOS. 


"  Ono  (Ifty  Captain  Kinnaird  wont  to  Toronto,  to  draw  liia 
half  year's  pay,  and  loft  Avord  with  Hannah  that  lio  wonld  bo 
hack  by  noon  the  next  day.  She  had  made  some  complaint 
against  U3  to  him,  and  he  had  promised  to  pay  us  oft'  on  hi» 
return.  This  had  coino  to  tho  ears  of  Cruco,  and  her  hatred  to 
the  liousekceper  was  increased  to  a  tenfold  degree.  I  take 
lie^^'cn  to  witness,  that  1  had  no  designs  ar^ainst  the  life  of  the 
unfor   inate  woman  when  my  master  left  the  house. 

"  Hani  ah  went  out  in  the  afternoon,  to  visit  some  friends  she 
had  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  left  Grace  and  I  aluno  together. 
This  was  an  opportunity  too  good  to  bo  lost,  and,  instead  of 
minding  cur  work,  we  got  recapitulating  our  fancied  wrongs 
over  some  of  the  captain's  whisky.  I  urged  my  suit  to  Grace  ; 
but  she  would  not  think  of  nuything,  or  listen  to  anything,  but 
the  insults  and  injuries  she  had  received  from  Hannah,  and  her 
burning  thirst  for  revenge.  '  Dear  me,'  said  T,  half  in  jest,  '  if 
you  hate  her  so  nmch  as  all  that,  say  but  the  word,  and  I  will 
ftoon  rid  you  of  her  for  ever.' 

"  I  had  not  the  least  idea  that  she  wonld  take  me  at  my  word. 
Her  eyes  flashed  with  a  horribk-  light.  'You  dare  not  do  it!' 
tiho  reidied,  with  a  scornful  tos':  of  her  head. 

"  'Dare  not  do  what?' 

"  '  Kill  that  woman  for  me !'  she  whispered. 

"  '  You  don't  know  what  I  dare,  or  what  I  dar'n't  do  1'  said  I, 
drawing  a  little  back  from  her.  'If  you  will  promise  to  run  off 
with  me  afterwards,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  with  her.' 

"  '  I'll  do  anything  you  like  ;  but  you  must  first  kill  her.' 

" '  You  are  not  in  earnest,  Grace?' 

"  '  I  mean  %vhat  I  say.' 

"  '  How  ehal!  wo  bo  able  to  accomplisli  it?  She  is  away  now, 
and  she  may  not  return  before  her  master  comes  back.' 

"  '  Never  doubt  her.  She  will  be  back  to  see  after  tlio  houso, 
ar^d  that  we  are  in  no  mischief.' 

"  '  She  sleeps  with  you  ?' 

"  '  Not  always.    She  will  to-night.' 

"  '  I  will  wait  till  you  are  nslcep,  and  tlicn  I  will  kill  her  with 
a  blow  of  the  uxo  on  the  head.  It  will  bo  over  in  a  miouto. 
Which  Bid':  of  the  bed  does  sho  lie  on?' 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


175 


" '  Sho  always  sleep.)  on  tlio  side  nearest  the  wall,  and  she  bolts 
the  door  the  last  thinj,'  bclbro  nho  puts  out  the  lij,'ht.  Hut  I  will 
manage  both  tlieno  dilHoulties  tor  j'ou.  I  will  j)rctend  to  Imvo 
the  toothache  very  bad,  and  will  ask  to  sleep  next  to  the  wall  to- 
night. Slio  id  kind  to  the  sick,  and  will  not  refuse  nio ;  and  after 
she  is  asleep,  I  will  steal  out  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  unbolt  the 
door.  If  yon  are  true  to  your  promise,  you  need  not  fear  tliat  I 
■hall  neglect  mine.' 

"  I  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  *  God  God !'  thougiit  I, 
'can  this  bo  a  woman?  A  pretty,  soft-looking  woman  too — and 
ft  mere  girl!  AVhat  a  beai-t  sho  must  havel'  I  felt  efpially 
tempted  to  tell  her  sho  was  a  devil,  and  that  I  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  such  a  horrible  piece  of  business;  but  sho  looked 
so  handsome,  that  somehow  or  another  I  yielded  to  the  tempta- 
tion, thoijgik  it  was  not  without  a  struggle;  for  conscience  loudly 
warned  mo  not  to  injure  one  who  had  never  Injured  mo. 

"  Hannah  camo  homo  to  supper,  and  she  was  imusually  agree- 
able, and  took  her  tea  with  us  in  the  kitchen,  and  laughed  and 
chatled  as  merrily  as  possible.  And  Grace,  in  order  to  liide  tl.o 
■wicked  thouglits  working  in  her  mind,  was  very  pleasimt  too, 
and  they  went  laughing  to  bed,  83  if  they  wcrotho  best  friends 
in  the  wt»rld. 

"  I  sat  by  the  kitchen  fire  after  they  were  gone,  with  tho  axo 
between  my  knees,  trying  to  harden  my  lieart  to  commit  tlio 
murde"  but  for  a  long  timo  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it. 
I  thought  over  all  my  past  life.  I  liad  been  a  bad,  disobedient 
son — a  dishonest,  wicked  man ;  but  I  had  never  shed  blood.  I 
had  often  foil  sorry  for  the  error  of  my  ways,  and  had  even 
vowed  ameudinon*^,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive  me,  and  make  a 
better  man  of  mo  for  the  timo  to  come.  And  now,  hero  I  wa.s, 
at  tho  instigation  of  a  young  girl,  contemplating  tho  dea  h  of  u 
fellow-creature,  with  whom  I  had  been  laughing  and  tailing  on 
apparently  friendly  terms  a  few  minutes  ago.  Oh,  it  wjw  dread- 
ful, too  dreadful  t<i  bo  true!  and  then  I  prayed  God  to  remove 
the  temi»tation  from  mo,  and  to  convince  mo  of  my  sin.  '  AI», 
but,'  wliinpered  tho  devil,  'Grace  Marks  will  laugh  at  you.  Sho 
will  twit  you  with  your  want  of  resolution,  and  say  thai  eho  is 
tho  bottor  man  of  tlio  two.' 


!'•« 


170 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


i ; 


"I  f«i)rai)g  up,  and  listened  at  their  door,  wliich  opened  Into 
tlie  kitchen.  All  wjis  still.  I  tried  the  door ; — for  the  damnation 
of  my  soul,  it  was  open.  I  had  no  need  of  a  candle,  the  moon 
was  lit  full ;  there  was  no  curtain  to  their  window,  and  it  shone 
directly  upon  the  hed,  and  I  could  see  their  features  as  plainly  as 
by  the  light  of  day.  Grace  was  either  sleeping,  or  pretending  to 
sleep — I  think  the  latter,  for  there  was  a  sort  of  fiendish  smile 
upon  her  lips.  The  house-keeper  had  yielded  to  her  request,  and 
was  lying  with  her  head  out  over  the  bed-clothes,  in  tlie  best 
possible  manner  for  receiving  a  death-blow  upon  her  temples. 
She  had  a  sad,  troubled  look  upon  her  handsome  face ;  and  onco 
she  moved  her  hand,  and  said  '  Oh  dear !'  I  wondered  whether 
she  was  dreaming  of  any  danger  to  herself  and  the  man  she 
loved.  I  raised  the  axe  to  give  the  death-blow,  but  my  arm 
seemed  held  back  by  an  invisible  hand.  It  was  tlie  hand  of  God. 
I  turned  away  from  the  bed,  and  left  the  room  ;  I  could  not  do 
it.  I  sat  down  by  the  embers  of  the  fire,  and  cursed  my  own 
folly.  I  made  a  second  attempt — a  third — and  fourth :  yes,  even 
to  a  ninth — and  my  purpose  was  each  time  defeated.  God 
seemed  to  fight  for  the  poor  creature;  and  the  last  time  I  left  the 
room  I  swore,  with  a  great  oath,  that  if  she  did  not  die  till  I 
killed  her,  she  might  live  on  till  the  day  of  judgment.  I  threw 
the  axe  on  to  the  wood  heap  in  the  shed,  and  went  to  bed,  and 
soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  In  the  morning  I  was  coming  into  the  kitchen  to  Ught  tho 
fire,  and  met  Grace  Marks  with  the  pails  in  her  hand,  going  out 
to  milk  the  cows.  As  she  passed  me,  she  gave  me  a  puke  with 
the  pail  in  the  ribs,  and  whispered  with  a  sneer,  'Arn't  you  a 
coward!' 

"As  she  uttered  those  words,  the  devil,  against  whoin  I  had 
fought  all  night,  entered  into  my  heart,  and  transformed  me  into 
a  demon.  All  feelings  of  remorse  and  mercy  forsook  me  from 
that  instant,  and  darker  and  deeper  plaas  of  murder  and  theft 
flashed  through  my  brain.  '  Go  and  milk  the  cows,'  said  I  with 
a  bitter  laugh,  '  and  you  shall  soon  see  whether  I  am  tho  ctiward 
you  take  mo  for.'  She  went  out  to  milk,  and  I  went  in  to  murder 
the  unsuspicious  housekeeper. 

"I  found  her  at  the  sink  in  the  kitchen,  washing  her  face  in  a 


i 


^^ 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


Ill 


had 

into 

I  from 

thoft 

hvith 

hv.'ird 

kder 

lin  a 


\' 


4>' 


tin  basin.  I  had  the  fatal  axo  in  ray  liand,  and  without  pausing 
for  nn  instant  to  change  my  mind — for  had  I  stopped  to  tliink, 
she  would  have  been  living  to  this  day — I  struck  lier  a  heavy 
blow  on  the  back  of  the  head  with  my  axo.  She  fell  to  tho 
ground  at  my  feet  without  uttering  a  word ;  and,  opening  the 
trap-door  that  led  from  the  kitchen  into  u  cellar  where  we  kept 
potatoes  and  other  stores,  I  hurled  her 'down,  closed  the  door, 
and  wiped  away  the  perspiration  that  was  streaming  down  my 
face.  I  then  looked  at  tho  axe  and  laughed.  '  Yes ;  I  have 
ta«ted  blood  now,  and  this  murder  will  not  be  the  last.  Grace 
Marks,  you  have  raised  the  devil — take  care  of  yourself  now  !' 

'■'■  She  came  in  with  her  pails,  looking  as  innocent  and  demure 
as  the  milk  they  contained.  She  turned  pale  when  her  eye  met 
mine.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  I  looked  the  Send  her  taunt  had 
made  me. 

" '  Where's  Hannah  ?'  she  asked,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  *  Dead,'  said  I.     '  What  1  are  you  turned  coward  now  ?' 

"  '  Macdermot,  you  look  dreadful.  I  am  afraid  of  you,  not  of 
her.' 

" '  Aha,  my  girl !  you  should  have  thought  of  that  before.  Tho 
hound  that  laps  blood  once  will  lap  again.  You  have  taught  mo 
how  to  kill,  and  I  don't  care  who,  or  how  many  I  kill  now. 
When  Kinnaird  comes  home  I  will  put  li  ball  through  his  brain, 
and  send  him  to  keep  company  below  with  the  liousekeeper.' 

"She  put  down  the  pails — she  sprang  towards  me,  and  cling- 
ing to  my  arm,  exclaimed  in  frantic  tones — 

"•You  won't  kill  him?' 

"  '  By ,  I  will !  why  should  he  escape  more  than  Hannah  i 

And  hark  you,  girl,  if  you  dare  to  breathe  a  word  to  any  one  of 
my  intention,  or  tell  to  any  one,  by  word  or  sign,  wliat  I  have 
done,  I'll  kill  you!' 

"  She  trembled  like  a  leaf.  Yes,  that  young  demon  trembled. 
'  Don't  kill  me,'  she  whined,  '  don't  kill  mo,  Macdermot  I  I  swear 
that  I  will  not  betray  you  ;  and  oh,  don't  kill  him !' 

" '  And  why  the  devil  do  you  want  me  to  spare  him  ?' 

"  '  Ho  is  so  handsome  1' 

" '  Pshaw  1' 

'* '  So  good-uaturod  1' 

8* 


..••j 


178 


LIFS   IH^  THE   OLKARINQS. 


1; 


" '  Especially  to  you.  Ooine,  Grace ;  no  nonsense.  If  I  had 
thonglit  that  you  were  jealous  of  your  master  and  Hannah,  I 
would  have  been  the  last  man  on  earth  to  have  kill  jd  her.  You 
belong  to  me  now ;  and  though  I  believe  the  devil  has  given  mo 
a  bad  bargain  in  you,  yet,  such  as  you  are,  I  will  stand  by  you. 
And  now  strike  a  light  and  follow  me  into  the  cellar.  You  must 
help  me  to  put  Ilannah  out  of  sight.' 

"  She  never  shed  a  tear,  but  she  looked  dogged  and  sullen,  and 
did  as  I  bid  her. 

"  That  cellar  presented  a  dreadful  spectacle.  I  can  hardly  bear 
to  recall  it  now ;  but  then,  when  my  hands  were  still  red  with 
her  blood,  it  was  doubly  terrible.  Hannah  Montgomery  was  not 
dead,  as  I  bad  thought ;  the  blow  had  only  stunned  her.  She 
had  partially  recovereu  her  senses,  and  wos  kneeling  on  one  knee 
as  we  descended  the  ladder  with  the  light.  I  don't  know  if  she 
heard  us,  for  she  must  have  been  blinded  with  the  blood  that  was 
flowing  down  her  face ;  but  she  certainly  heard  us,  and  raised 
her  clasped  hands,  as  if  to  implore  mercy. 

"  I  turned  to  Grace.  The  expression  of  her  livid  face  was  oven 
more  dreadful  than  that  of  the  unfortunate  woman.  She  uttered 
no  cry,  but  she  put  her  hand  to  her  head,  and  said — 

" '  God  has  damned  me  for  this.' 

"  '  Then  you  have  nothing  more  to  fear,'  says  I.  '  Give  mo  that 
handkerchief  off  your  neck.'  She  gave  it  without  a  word.  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  body  of  the  housekeeper,  and  planting 
my  knee  on  her  breast,  1  tied  the  handkerchief  round  her  throat 
in  a  single  tie,  giving  Grace  one  end  to  hold,  while  I  drew  the 
other  tight  enough  to  finish  my  terrible  work.  Uer  eyes  literally 
started  from  her  head,  she  gave  one  groan,  and  all  was  over.  I 
then  cut  the  body  in  four  pieces,  and  turned  a  large  wash-tub 
over  them. 

"  '  Now,  Grace,  you  may  come  up  and  get  ray  breakfast.' 

"  '  Yes,  Mr.  M .'    You  will  not  perhaps  believe  me,  yet  I 

assure  you  that  we  went  up  stairs  and  ate  a  good  breakfast ;  and 
I  laughed  with  Grace  at  the  consternation  the  captain  would  bo 
in  when  he  found    ,*»at  Uannah  was  absent. 

"During  the  n.?  vin':  a  ,iedlar  called,  who  travelled  the 
country  with  second-h;,  v.  articus  of  clothing,  taking  farm  pro- 


■ 


4> 


LIFE    IN    Tim    CLEAKINQS. 


17i) 


dbo 

the 
pro- 


4> 


tliico  in  excliango  for  liis  wftrca.  I  bought  of  liiin  two  good 
linen-breasted  shirts',  wLicli  )md  been  stoUni  from  ponio  gentle- 
man by  his  housekeeper.  ^VIale  I  was  chatting  with  the  pedlar, 
I  remarked  that  Grace  had  left  the  house,  and  I  saw  her  through 
the  kitchen  window  talking  to  a  young  lad  by  tho  well,  who 
often  camo  across  to  borrow  an  old  gun  from  my  master  to  shoot 
ducks.  I  called  to  her  to  come  in,  which  she  appeared  to  mo  to 
do  very  reluctantly.  I  felt  that  I  was  in  her  power,  and  I  waa 
horribly  afraid  of  her  betraying  mo  iii  order  to  save  her  own 
and  the  captain's  life.  I  now  hated  her  from  my  very  soul,  and 
could  have  killed  her  without  tho  least  pity  or  remorse. 

'• '  What  do  you  want,  Macdcrmot?'  sho  said  snllonly. 

"  '  I  want  you.  I  dare  not  trust  you  out  of  my  sight.  I  know 
what  you  are, — you  arc  plotting  mischief  against  mo:  but  if  you 

betray  mo  1  will  be  reveuged,  if  I  have  to  follow  you  to for 

that  purpose.' 

"  '■  Wliy  do  you  doubt  my  word,  Macdermot  ?  Do  you  think  I 
want  to  hang  myself?' 

"  '  No,  not  yourself,  but  mo.  You  are  too  bad  to  bo  trusted. 
What  were  you  saying  just  now  to  that  boy  i' 

"  '  I  told  him  that  the  captain  was  not  at  home,  and  I  darod 
not  lend  him  tho  gun.' 

" '  You  wore  right.     Tho  gun  will  bo  wanted  at  home.' 

"  Sho  shuddered  and  turned  away.  It  seems  that  sho  had  had 
enough  of  blood,  and  showed  some  feeling  at  last.  I  kept  my 
oyo  upon  her,  and  would  not  suffer  her  for  a  moment  out  of  my 
siglit. 

"At  noon  tho  captain  drove  into  tho  yard,  and  I  wont  out 
to  take  the  horso.  Before  ho  had  time  to  alight,  ho  asked  for 
Hannah.  I  told  liim  that  sho  was  out, — that  sho  went  off  tho 
day  before,  and  had  not  returned,  but  that  wo  exitected  her  in 
every  minute. 

"  lie  was  very  much  annoyed,  and  said  that  sho  had  no  busi- 
ness to  leave  the  hou^o  during  his  absence, — that  ho  would  give 
her  a  good  rating  when  sho  camo  homo. 

"Grace  asked  if  s!ie  should  get  his  breakfist? 

"IIo  said,  'He  wanted  none.  lie  would  WAit  till  Ilannah 
came  back,  and  then  ho  would  take  a  cup  of  coffee.' 


I      ( 


180 


LIFK    IN'    llli::    CLEAIUNOS. 


"  lie  then  went  into  the  parlour;  and  throwing  himself  down 
upon  the  sofa,  connncneed  reading  a  magazine  ho  had  hro\i{;;lit 
witli  him  from  Toronto. 

" '  I  thought  he  would  miss  the  young  lady,'  said  Grace.  '  lie 
has  no  idea  how  close  she  is  to  him  at  this  moment.  I  wonder 
why  I  could  not  make  him  as  good  a  cup  of  cofteo  as  Hannah. 
I  have  often  made  it  for  him  when  he  did  not  know  it.  ]}ut 
what  is  sweet  from  her  hand,  would  be  poison  from  mine.  But 
I  have  had  my  revenge !' 

"  Dinner  time  came,  and  out  came  the  captain  to  the  kitchen, 
book  in  hand. 

'"Isn't  Hannah  back  yet?' 
" '  No,  Sir.' 

"  '  It's  strange.    Which  way  did  she  go?' 
'' '  She  did  not  tell  us  Avhere  she  was  going ;  but  said  that,  as 
you  were  out,  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity  of  visiting  an  old 
friond.' 

"  '  When  did  she  say  she  would  be  back  ?' 
"  '  Wo  expected  her  last  night,'  said  Grace. 
'' '  Something  must  have  happened  to  the  girl,  Macderniot,' 
turning  to  me.     'Put  the  saddle  on  my  riding  horse.     I  will  go 
among  the  neighbours,  and  inquire  if  they  have  seen  her.' 
"  Grace  exchanged  glances  with  mo. 
"  '  Will  you  not  stay  till  after  dinner.  Sir  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  care,'  ho  cried  impatiently, '  a for  dinner.  I  feel 

too  uneasy  about  the  girl  to  eat.  Macdermot,  be  quick  and  sad- 
dle Charley  ;  and  you,  Grace,  come  and  tell  me  when  lie  is  at  the 
door.' 

"He  went  back  into  the  parlour,  and  put  on  his  riding-coat; 
and  I  went  into  the  harness  house,  not  to  obey  his  orders,  but  to 
plan  his  destruction. 

"  I  perceived  that  it  was  more  difficult  to  conceal  a  murder 
than  I  had  imagined  ;  that  the  inquiries  he  was  about  to  make 
would  arouse  suspicion  among  the  neighbours,  and  finally  load  to 
a  discovery.  The  only  way  to  prevent  this  was  to  Tiiurdor  him, 
take  what  m<»noy  ho  had  brought  with  him  from  Toronto,  and  be 
oft'  with.  Grace  to  the  States.  Whatever  repugnance  I  might 
have  felt  at  the  commission  of  this  fresh  crime,  was  drowned  in 


I 


<(> 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


181 


iurder 
I  nmko 

.'11(1  to 

liirn, 
ln<l  bo 
iniglit 
led  iu 


tho  selfish  necessity  of  Belt-preservation.    My  plans  were  soon 
matured  ;  and  I  liai«tencd  tu  put  tiiuin  in  a  proper  train. 

"  I  first  loaded  the  old  duck  gun  with  ball,  and  putting  it  be- 
hind the  door  oi'  the  harness-house,  I  went  into  tho  parlour.     I 
found  the  captain  lying  on  tho  sofa  reading,  his  hat  and  gloves 
beside  hiiu  on  tho  table.     lie  started  up  as  I  entered. 
" '  Is  the  iiorse  ready  ?' 

" '  Not  yet,  Sir.  Some  person  has  been  in  during  the  niglit, 
and  cut  your  new  English  saddle  almost  to  pieces.  I  wish  you 
would  stop  out  and  look  at  it.  I  cannot  put  it  ou  Charley  in  iti) 
present  state.' 

"  '  Don't  bother  me,'  he  cried  angrily ;  '  it  is  in  your  charge, — 
you  are  answerable  for  that.  Who  the  devil  would  think  it  worth 
thuir  wiiile  to  break  into  tho  harness-house  to  cut  a  saddle,  wlien 
they  could  have  carried  it  otT  entirely  ?  Let  mo  have  noue  of 
your  tricks,  Sirl     You  must  have  done  it  yourself!' 

''  'That  is  not  very  likely.  Captain  Kinuaird.    At  any  rate,  it 
would  bo  a  satisfaction  to  me  if  you  would  come  and  look  at  it.' 
" '  I'm  in  too  great  a  hurry.    Put  on  the  old  one.' 
*'  J  still  held  the  door  in  my  hand.     '  It's  only  u  step  from  hero 
to  the  harness-house.' 

"lie  rose  reluctantly,  and  followed  me  into  th*-  kitchen.  Tho 
harness-house  formed  part  of  a  lean-to  otif  t,he  kitchen,  and  you 
went  down  two  steps  into  it.  He  went  on  before  me,  and  an  he 
descended  the  steps,  I  clutched  the  gun  I  had  left  behind  the  door, 
took  my  aim  between  his  sliouldors,  and  shot  him  through  the 
heart.  lie  staggered  forward  and  fell,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so, 
'  O  God,  I  am  shot  1' 

"  In  a  few  minutes  he  wuh  lying  in  the  cellar,  beside  our  other 
victim.  Very  little  blood  flowed  from  the  wound ;  he  bled  in- 
ternally. He  had  ou  a  very  fine  shirt ;  and  after  rifling  his  per- 
son, and  possessing  myself  of  his  po<?ket-book  I  took  of  his  shirt, 
and  put  on  the  one  I  had  l)ought  of  the  podlar." 

"Then,"  cried  Air.  Mac — ie,  to  whom  th.is  confession  was  made, 
"that  was  how  the  pedlar  was  supposed  to  have  a  hand  in  tho 
murder.    That  circumstance  confused  tlie  evidence,  and  nearly 
saved  your  life." 
"  It  wa8  just  as  I  have  told  you,"  said  Macdermot.  o 


WW 


s 


f 


182 


LIFB    IN    TIIK    CLEARIKOB. 


i  I 


"  And  toll  mo,  Macdcrmot,  tho  rejison  of  another  circumstanoo 
that  puzzled  tho  wliolo  court.  How  caino  that  magazine,  whicii 
wa.s  fbtind  in  tho  liousekoepcr's  bod  saturated  with  blood,  in  that 
place,  and  so  far  from  tho  spot  where  tho  murder  was  coni- 
mittod?" 

"That,  too,  is  easily  explained,  though  it  was  such  a  riddio  to 
you  gentlemen  of  the  law.  >Vhen  tho  captain  camo  out  to  look 
at  tho  saddle,  ho  had  the  book  opou  in  his  hand.  When  he  was 
phot,  ho  clapped  the  book  to  his  breast  with  both  his  hands. 
Almost  all  tho  blood  that  flowed  from  it  was  caught  in  that  book. 
It  rctpiired  some  force  on  my  part  to  take  it  from  his  grasp  after 
ho  was  dead.  Not  knowing  v;hat  to  do  with  it,  I  flung  it  into  tlio 
housekeeper's  bed.  Wliilo  I  harnessed  tho  riding-horse  into  his 
new  buggy,  Grace  collected  all  the  valuables  in  tho  house.  You 
know.  Sir,  that  we  got  safe  on  board  tho  steamer  at  Toronto;  but, 
owing  to  an  unfortunate  delay,  wo  were  ai)prohcnded,  sent  to  jail, 
and  condemned  to  die. 

"  f':  ,-"oo,  you  tell  mo,  has  been  reprieved,  and  her  sentence 
ccnuiuiuu  into  confinement  in  tho  Penitentiary  for  life.  This 
seems  very  unju  1  to  mo,  for  sho  is  certainly  more  criminal  than 
I  am.  If  she  had  not  instigated  mo  to  commit  the  murder,  it 
never  would  have  been  done.  But  the  priest  tells  me  that  I  sliall 
not  be  hung,  and  not  to  mako  myself  uneasy  on  that  score." 

" Macdermot,"  said  Mr.  Mtu-io,  "it  is  useless  to  flatter  you 
with  false  hopes.  You  will  suifcr  the  execution  of  your  sentence 
to-morrow,  at  eight  o'clock,  in  front  of  tho  jail.  I  have  seen  tho 
order  sent  by  tho  governor  to  tho  sheriflf,  and  that  was  my  reason 
for  visiting  you  to-night.  I  was  not  satisfied  in  my  own  mind 
of  your  guilt.  What  you  have  told  mo  has  greatly  relieved  my 
mind ;  and  I  must  add,  if  ever  man  deserved  his  sentence,  you 
do  yours." 

"  When  this  unhappy  man  was  roally  convinced  that  I  was  in 
earnest — that  Ue  must  pay  with  his  life  tho  penalty  of  his  crime," 
continued  Mr.  Mac — ^ie,  "  his  abject  cowardice  and  tho  mental 
agonies  he  endured  were  too  terrible  to  witness,  lie  dashed 
himself  on  the  floor  of  his  cell,  and  shrieked  and  raved  like  a 
maniac,  declaring  that  he  could  not,  and  would  not  die ;  that  the 
law  had  no  right  to  murder  a  man's  soul  as  well  as  his  body,  by 


4) 


, 


LIFK   IN   TUG   CLEARLVns. 


183 


si  mil 


rns  in 

line," 


i 


glvinj?  him  iiv^  timo  for  repentance ;  tliat  if  lio  was  hung  like  n 
dog,  Grace  Maries,  in  justice,  ought  to  share  his  fate.  Finding 
tliat  all  I  could  say  to  him  had  no  oflToot  in  producing  a  hotter 
frame  of  mind,  I  called  in  the  chapluiu,  and  left  the  sinner  to  his 
fate. 

"  A  few  months  ago  I  visiti^'l  the  Penitentiary ;  and  as  my 
j)lcading  had  heen  the  mcana  of  Mviiig  Grace  from  the  same 
doom,  I  naturally  felt  interested  in  her  present  state.    I  wan  \K-r- 

mitted  to  see  and  speak  to  licr  and  Mrs.  M .    I  never  shiill 

forget  tlio  painful  feelings  I  experienced  during  this  interview. 
She  had  betjn  live  years  in  the  Penitentiary,  but  still  retained  a 
remarkably  youthful  appearance.  The  sullen  assurance  that  had 
formerly  mjirked  her  countenance,  had  given  place  to  a  sad  and 
humbled  expression.  She  had  lost  much  of  lier  former  good 
looks,  and  seldom  raised  her  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"  '  Well,  Grace,'  I  said,  '  how  is  it  with  yon  now  ?' 

"'Bad  enough  Sir,' she  answered,  with  a  sigh;  'I  ought  to 
feel  grateful  to  you  for  all  the  trouble  you  took  on  my  account. 
I  thought  you  my  friend  then,  but  you  were  the  worst  enemy  I 
over  had  in  my  lifo.| 

"  '  How  la  that,  Grace  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  Sir,  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  to  have  died  with 
Macdermot  than  to  have  suftered  for  years,  as  I  have  done,  the 
torments  of  the  damned.  Oh,  Sir,  my  misery  is  too  great  for 
words  to  describe!  I  would  gladly  sobmit  to  the  most  i)ainful 
death,  if  I  thought  that  it  would  put  an  end  to  the  pangs  I  daily 
endure.  But  though  I  have  repented  of  my  wickcdneH.s  Avith 
bitter  tears,  it  has  jdeased  (Jod  that  I  should  never  again  know  a 
moment's  peace.  Since  I  helped  Macdermot  to  strangle  Hannah 
Montgomery,  her  terrible  face  and  those  horrible  bloodshot  eyes 
have  never  loft  me  for  a  moment.  They  glare  upon  me  by  night 
and  day,  and  when  I  close  my  eyes  in  despair,  I  see  them  looking 
into  my  soul — it  is  impossible  to  shut  tiiem  out.  If  I  am  at  work, 
in  a  few  minutes  that  dreadful  head  is  in  my  lap.  If  I  look  up 
to  get  rid  of  it,  I  see  it  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  At  dinner, 
it  is  in  my  plate,  or  grinning  between  the  persons  who  sit  oppo- 
site to  me  at  tabic.  Every  object  that  meets  my  sight  takes  tho 
same  dreadful  form ;  and  at  night — at  night — in  the  silence  and 


ft  ; 


184 


LIFE    IN    THIS    CLEARINGS. 


n 


loneliness  of  my  cell,  those  blazing  eyes  innke  my  ])rifion  an  li;,'lit 
OS  (lay.  No.,  not  oh  day — tiiey  have  a  terribly  iii»t  glare,  that  lias 
not  the  appearance  of  anyUiinj,'  in  this  world.  And  when  I 
sleep,  that  face  just  hovers  above  my  own,  its  eyes  just  opposite 
to  mine  ;  so  that  when  I  awake  with  a  shriek  of  a^'ony,  I  tind 
them  there.  Oh  I  this  is  hell.  Sir — these  are  the  torments  of  the 
damned  1  Wore  I  in  that  fiory  place,  my  punishn:ent  could  not 
bo  greater  than  this.' 

"  The  poor  creature  turned  away,  and  I  left  her,  for  who  conld 
say  a  word  of  comfort  to  such  grief?  it  was  a  matter  solely 
between  her  own  conscience  and  God." 

Having  heard  this  terrible  narrative,  I  was  very  anxious  to 
behold  this  unhappy  victim  of  remorse.  She  passed  me  on  the 
stfipp  "9  T  piorieedod  to  the  part  of  the  building  where  the  women 
were  "kept ;  but  on  perceiving  a  stranger,  she  turned  her  head 
away,  so  that  I  could  not  get  a  glimpse  of  her  face. 

Having  made  known  mj'  wishes  to  the  matron,  she  very  kindly 
called  her  in  to  perforin  some  trifling  dnty  in  the  ward,  so  that  I 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her.  She  is  a  middle-sized 
■woman,  with  a  sliglit  graceful  figure.  There  is  an  air  of  hopeless 
melancholy  in  her  face  which  is  very  painful  to  contemplate.  Her 
complexion  is  fair,  and  rauHt,  before  the  touch  of  hopeless  sorrow 
paied  it,  have  been  very  brilliant.  Tier  eyes  are  a  bright  blue, 
her  hair  auburn,  and  her  face  would  be  rather  handsome  Wie  it 
not  for  the  long  cm'vcd  chin,  which  gives,  as  it  always  does  to 
most  persons  who  have  this  facial  defect,  a  cunning  cruel  txpres- 
sion. 

Grace  Marks  glances  at  you  with  a  sidelong,  stealthy  look ;  her 
eye  never,  meets  yours,  and  after  a  furtive  regard,  it  invariably 
bends  its  gaze  upon  the  ground.  She  looks  like  a  i*er«on  rather 
above  her  humble  station,  anl  her  conduct  during  her  stay  in  the 
Penitentiary  v;as  so  unexceptionable,  that  a  petition  was  signed 
by  all  the  influential  gentlemen  in  Kingston,  which  released  her 
from  her  long  imprlsonnuMit.  She  entered  the  service  of  the 
governor  of  the  Penitentiary,  but  the  fearful  hauntings  of  her 
brain  have  terminated  in  madness.  She  is  now  in  the  asylum  at 
Toronto ;  and  as  I  mean  to  visit  it  when  there,  I  may  chance  to 
6oe  this  remarkable  criminal  again.    Lot  us  hope  that  all  her 


UFK    IN    THK    ri.RARINfJR. 


185 


proviouM  guilt  may  be  ftttribntcfl  to  tlic  iiicipiout  workings  of  tliifi 
IViglitful  inahuly. 


lier 
iriably 
rather 
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TO  THE  WIND. 

*'  Stern  spirit  of  air,  wild  voice  of  tho  Hky  ! 

Thy  Hliuut  reiuls  the  hoavens,  anJ  earth  troinhles  with  droad  j 
In  lioarsn  hdllow  rnnrmnra  tho  billows  reply, 
And  ocean  is  roused  in  his  cavernous  bed. 

*'  On  thy  broa<l  rushing  pinions  destruction  rides  free, 
Unfettered  they  sweep  the  wide  deserts  of  air; 
The  Inirricano  bursts  over  mountain  and  sea, 

And  havoc  and  death  mark  tliy  track  with  despair. 

•'  When  the  thunder  lies  cradled  within  its  dark  cloud. 
And  earth  and  her  tribes  crouch  in  Hil.i\  e  and  droa«l, 
Thy  voice  shakos  the  forest,  the  tall  oak  is  bowed, 
That  for  ages  had  shook  at  tho  tempest  its  head. 

*'  When  tho  Lord  bowe.  the  heavens,  and  ramo  down  in  his  might, 
Sublimely  around  were  tho  elements  cast ; 
At  his  feet  lay  tho  dense  rolling  shadows  of  nii»ht. 
But  the  power  of  Omnipotence  rode  on  the  blast. 

"  Frcm  tho  whirlwind  he  spake,  when  m.in  wnint»  with  pain. 
In  the  strength  of  his  ani^iish  dare  *  l.-illenge  his  God; 
'Mid  its  thunders  ho  told  liiin  his  reasoning  was  vain. 
Till  ho  bowed  to  correction,  and  ki.ss'd  tho  just  rod. 

"When  called  by  tho  voice  of  the  prophet  of  "Id, 

In  tho  'valley  of  bones,'  to  breathe, over  Ui-'  deavl  ; 
Like  tho  sands  of  the  sea,  could  their  immbor  be  told, 
They  started  to  lifo  when  the  mandate  had  sped 

"Those  chill  mouldering  ashes  thy  summons  could  bind, 
And  tho  dark  icy  slumbers  of  ages  gave  way ; 
The  spirit  of  life  took  tho  wings  of  the  wind, 
RekindUng  the  souls  of  the  children  of  clay. 


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Sdences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


';^^  MP. 


188  LIFE    IN   TUB    CLEARINGS. 

"  Shrill  trumpet  of  God  !  I  shrink  at  thy  blast, 

That  shakes  the  firm  hills  to  their  centre  with  dread, 
And  have  thought  in  that  conflict — earth's  Haddest  and  last — 
That  thy  deep  cliilling  sigh  will  awaken  the  dead !" 


] 


ii 

I: 


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n 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Ilia  day  of  life  Is  closing— the  long  night 
Of  dreamless  rest  a  duslcy  shadow  tlirows, 
Between  the  dying  and  the  things  of  earth, 
Enfolding  in  a  chill  oblivious  pall 
The  last  sad  struggles  of  a  broken  heart. 
Yes!  ere  the  rising  of  to-morrow's  sun, 
The  bitter  grief  that  brought  him  to  this  pass 
Will  be  forgotten  in  the  sleep  of  death." 

S.  M. 

"We  left  Kingston  at  three  o'clock,  p.m.,  in  the  "  Passport,"  for 
Toronto.  From  her  cotnnmnder.  Captain  Towhy,  a  line  British 
heart  of  oak,  wo  received  tlie  kindest  attention;  liis  intelligent 
conversation,  and  interesting  descriptions  of  the  inany  lands  ho 
had  visited  during  a  long  acquaintance  with  the  sea,  greatly 
lightening  the  tedium  of  the  voyage. 

When  once  fairly  afloat  on  hoard  the  hlue  inland  sea  of 
Ontario,  you  soon  lose  sight  of  the  shores,  and  could  imagine  your- 
self sailing  on  a  calm  day  on  the  wide  ocean.  There  is  some- 
thing, however,  wanting  to  complete  the  deception — the  invigo- 
rating freshness — the  peculiar  smell  of  the  salt  water,  that  is  so 
exhilarating,  and  which  produces  a  sensation  of  freedom  and 
power  thi',t  is  never  experienced  on  these  fresh-water  lakes. 
They  want  the  depth,  the  fulness,  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean, 
though  the  wide  expanse  of  water  and  sky  are,  in  all  other  re- 
spects, the  same. 

The  boat  seldom  tonches  at  any  place  before  she  reaches 
Cohourg,  which  is  generally  at  night.  "VVo  stopped  a  short  time 
at  the  wharf  to  put  passengers  and  freight  on  shore,  and  to 
receive  fresh  passengers  and  freight  in  return.  The  sight  of  this 
town,  which  I  had  not  seen  for  many  years,  recalled  forcibly  to 


i 


J 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


187 


i, 


0 


my  mind  a  melancholy  scene  in  which  I  chanced  to  bo  an  actor. 
I  will  relate  it  hero. 

"When  we  first  arrived  in  Canada,  in  1832,  we  remained  for 
three  weeks  at  an  hotel  in  this  town,  though,  at  that  period,  it 
wiis  a  place  of  much  less  importance  tlian  it  is  at  present,  de- 
serving httle  more  than  the  name  of  a  pretty  rising  village, 
pleasantly  situated  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Ontario.  The  rapid 
improvement  of  the  country  has  converted  Cobourg  into  a 
thriving,  populous  town,  and  it  has  trebled  its  population  during 
the  lapse  of  twenty  years.  A  residence  in  a  house  of  public 
entertainment,  to  those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  the  quiet 
and  retirement  of  a  country  Ufe,  is  always  unpleasant,  and  to 
strangers  as  we  Avere,  in  a  foreign  land,  it  was  doubly  repugnant 
to  our  feelings.  In  spite  of  all  my  wise  resolutions  not  to  give 
way  to  despondency,  but  to  battle  bravely  against  the  change  in 
my  circumstances,  I  found  myself  daily  yielding  up  my  Avholo 
heart  and  soul  to  that  worst  of  all  maladies,  home  sickness. 

It  was  during  these  hours  of  loneliness  and  dejection,  while 
my  husband  was  absent  examining  farms  in  the  neighbourhood, 
that  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  fonn  an  acquaintance- with  Mrs. 

C ,  a  Canadian  lady,  who  boarded  with  her  husband  in  the 

same  hotel.  My  new  friend  was  a  young  woman  agreeable  in 
person,  and  perfectly  unaffected  in  her  manners,  which  were 
remarkably  frank  and  kind.  Hers  was  the  first  friendly  face  I 
had  seen  in  the  colony,  and  it  will  ever  be  remembered  by  mo 
with  affection  and  respec*;. 

One  afternoon  while  alone  in  my  chamber,  getting  my  baby,  a 
little  girl  of  six  months  old,  to  sleep,  and  thinking  many  sad 
thoughts,  and  shedding  some  bitter  tears  for  the  loss  of  the  dear 
country  and  friends  I  had  left  for  ever,  a  slight  tap  at  tlie  door 

roused  me  from  my  painful  reveries,  and  Mrs.  C entered  the 

room.  Like  most  of  the  Canadian  women,  my  friend  was  small 
of  stature,  slight  and  delicately  formed,  and  dressed  with  the 
smartness  and  neatness  so  characteristic  of  the  females  of  this 
continent,  who,  if  tliey  lack  some  of  the  accomplishments  of 
English  women,  far  surpass  them  in  their  taste  in  dress,  their 
choice  of  colours,  and  the  graceful  and  becoming  manner  in 
which  they  wear  their  clothes.    If  ray  young  friend  had  a  weak- 


tmtmmttmmmmmm 


188 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


m 


iiess,  it  yas  on  this  point;  but  as  her  luisband  was  engaged  in  a 
lucrative  mercantile  business,  and  they  had  no  family,  it  was 
certainly  excusable.  At  this  moment  her  pretty  neat  little 
figure  was  a  welcome  and  interesting  object  to  the  home-sick 
emigrant. 

"  What!  always  in  tears,"  said  she,  carefully  closing  the  door. 
"What  pleasure  it  would  give  mo  to  see  you  more  cheerful! 
This  constant  repining  will  never  do." 

"  The  sight  of  you  has  made  me  feel  better  already,"  said  T, 

wiping  my  eyes,  and  trying  to  force  a  smile.     "  M is  away 

on  a  farm-hunting  expedition,  ur.d  I  have  been  alone  all  day. 
Can  you  wonder,  then,  that  I  am  so  depressed  ?  Memory  is  my 
worst  companion ;  for  by  constantly  recalling  scenes  of  past  hap- 
l)iness,  she  renders  me  discontented  with  the  present,  and  hope- 
less of  the  future,  and  it  will  require  all  your  kind  sympathy  to 
reconcile  me  to  Canada." 

"You  will  like  it  better  by  and  by ;  a  new  country  always  im- 
proves upon  acquaintance." 

"  Ah,  never  I  Did  I  only  consult  my  own  feelings,  I  would  be 
off  by  the  next  steam-boat  for  England ;  but  then — my  husband, 
my  child,  our  scanty  means.  Yes!  yes!  I  must  submit,  but  I 
find  it  a  hard  task." 

"Wo  have  all  our  trials,  Mrs.  M ;  and,  to  tell  you  the 

truth,  I  do  not  feel  in  the  best  spirits  myself  this  afternoon,  I 
came  to  ask  you  what  I  am  certain  you  will  consider  a  strange 
question." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  so  unusually  serious,  that  I  looked  up 
from  the  cradle  in  surprise,  which  her  solemn  aspect,  and  pale, 
tearful  face,  did  not  tend  to  diminish.  Before  I  could  ask  the 
cause  of  her  dejection,  she  added  quickly — 

"Dare  you  read  a  chapter  from  the  Bible  to  a  dying  man?" 

"  Dare  I  ?    Yes,  certainly !     Who  is  ill  ?    Who  is  dying  ? " 

"It's  a  sad  story,"  she  continued,  wiping  tho  tears  from  her 
kind  eyes.  "  I  will  tell  you,  however,  what  I  know  of  it,  just  to 
satisfy  you  as  to  the  propriety  of  my  request.  There  is  a  po?h* 
young  man  in  this  house  who  is  very  sick — dying,  I  believe,  of 
consumption.  He  came  here  about  three  weeks  ago,  without 
food,  without  money,  and  in  a  dreadfully  emaciated  state.    He 


(] 


4 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEAIiI>'08. 


180 


'^ 


7; 


^1 


took  our  good  landlord,  Mr.  S ,  on  one  side,  and  told  him 

how  he  was  situated,  and  begged  that  he  would  give  him  some- 
thing to  eat  and  a  night's  lodging,  promising  that  if  ever  ho  was 
restored  to  health,  he  would  re[)ay  the  cu.'it  in  work.     You  know 

wliat  a  kind,  humane  man  Mr.  S is,  r^lhough,"  she  added, 

with  a  sly  smile,  '■^  he  is  a  Yankee.,  and  so  am  a  I  by  right  of 

l)arentage,  though  not  of  birth.    Mr.  S saw  at  glance  that 

the  suppliant  was  an  object  of  real  charity,  and  instantly  com- 
plied Avith  his  request.  Without  asking  further  particulars,  lie 
gave  him  a  good  bod,  sent  him  up  a  bowl  of  hot  soup,  and  bade 
him  not  distress  himself  about  the  future,  but  try  and  get  a  good 
night's  rest.     The  next  day,  the  young  man  was  too  ill  to  leave 

his  chamber.    Mr.  S sent  for  old  Dr.  Morton,  who,  after 

examining  the  lad,  informed  his  employer  that  he  was  in  the  last 
stage  of  consumption,  and  had  not  many  days  to  live,  and  it 

would  bo  advisable  for  Mr.  S to  have  him  removed  to  the 

hospital — (a  pitiful  shed  erected  for  emigrants  who  may  chance 

to  arrive  ill  with  the  cholera).    Mr.  S not  only  refused  to 

send  the  young  man  away,  but  has  nursed  him  with  the  greatest 
care,  his  wife  and  daughters  taking  it  by  turns  to  sit  up  nightly 
with  the  poor  patient." 

My  friend  said  nothing  about  her  own  attendance  on   the 

invalid,  which,  I  afterwards  learned  from  Mrs.  S ,  had  been 

unremitting. 

"And  what  account  does  the  lad  give  of  himself?"  said  I. 

"AH  that  we  know  about  him  is,  that  his  name  is  Macbride.' 

and  that  he  is  nephew  to  Mr.  C ,  of  Peterboro',  an  Irishman 

by  birth,  and  a  Catholic  by  religion.  Some  violent  altercation 
took  place  between  him  and  his  uncle  a  short  time  ago,  Avhich 
induced  Michael  to  leave  his  house,  and  look  out  for  a  situation 
-for  himself.  Hearing  that  his  parents  had  arrived  in  this  coun- 
try, and  were  on  their  way  to  Peterboi-o',  he  came  down  as  far 
as  Cobourg  in  the  hope  of  meeting  them,  when  his  steps  Avere 
arrested  by  poverty  and  sickness  on  this  threshold. 

"By  a  singular  coincidence,  his  mother  came  to  the  hotel 
yesterday  evening  to  inquire  the  way  to  Peterboro',  and  Mr. 

*  Michael  Macbride  was  not  th<s  real  name  of  this  poor  young  man,  but  is  one 
substituted  by  tho  author. 


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LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


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S foiinil  out,  from  her  conversation,  tliat  she  was  the  raotlicr 

of  the  poor  lad,  and  ho  instantly  conducted  her  to  the  bed-sido 
of  her  son.  I  was  sitting  with  hini  when  the  interview  between 
him  and  his  mother  took  place,  and  I  assure  you  that  it  Avas 
almost  too  much  for  my  nerves — his  joy  and  gratitude  were  so 
great  at  once  more  beholding  his  parent,  while  the  grief  and 
distraction  of  the  poor  woman,  on  seeing  him  in  a  dying  state, 
was  agonising ;  and  she  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  in  uttering  the 
most  hearty  curses  against  the  country,  and  tlie  persons  who  by 
their  unkindness  had  been  the  cause  of  his  sickness.  Tlie  young 
man  seemed  shocked  at  the  unfeminine  conduct  of  his  mother, 
and  begged  me  to  excuse  the  rude  manner  in  which  slie  answered 
me;  'for,'  says  he.  'she  is  ignorant  and  beside  herself,  and  docs 
not  know  what  she  is  saying  or  doing.' 

"  Instead  of  expressing  the  least  gratitude  to  Mr.  S for  the 

attention  bestowed  on  her  son,  by  some  strange  ])cr version  of 
intellect  she  seems  to  regard  him  and  ns  as  liis  especial  enemies. 
Last  night  she  ordered  us  from  his  room,  and  dcclai'cd  that  hor 
'  precious  Ihoy  was  not  going  to  die  like  a  liatlien^  surrounded  by 
a  parcel  of  heretics ;'  and  she  sent  off  a  man  on  horseback  for 
the  priest  and  for  his  uncle — the  very  man  from  whose  house  ho 
fled,  and  whom  she  accuses  of  being  the  cause  of  hor  son's  deatb. 

Michael  anticipates  the  arrival  of   Mr.   0 with  feelings 

bordering  on  despair,  and  prays  that  God  may  end  his  sufferings 
before  he  reaches  Oobourg. 

"  Last  night  Mrs.  Macbride  sat  up  with  Michael  herself,  and 
would  not  allow  us  to  do  the  least  thing  for  him.  This  morning 
her  fierce  temper  seems  to  have  subsided,  until  her  son  awoko 
from  a  broken  and  feverish  sleep,  and  declared  that  he  would 

not  die  a  Eoman  Catholic,  and  earnestly  requested  Mr.  S to 

send  for  a  Protestant  clergyman.  This  gave  rise  to  a  violent 
scene  between  Mrs.  Macbi'ide  and  her  son,  which  ended  in  Mr. 

S sending  for  Mr.  B ,  the  clergyman  of  our  village,  who, 

unfortunately,  had  left  this  morning  for  Toronto,  and  is  not  ex- 
pected home  for  several  days.  Michael  eagerly  asked  if  there 
was  any  person  present  who  would  read  to  him  from  the  Pro- 
testant Bible.  This  excited  in  the  mother  such  a  fit  of  passion, 
that  none  of  us  dared  attempt  the  task.    I  then  thought  of  you, 


-J ,. 


V 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEAKING8. 


101 


J 


that,  as  a  perfect  stranger,  she  luiglit  receive  you  in  a  less  hostile 
manner.  If  yon  arc  not  afraid  to  encounter  tlie  fierce  old  woman, 
do  make  tlio  attempt  for  tlio  sake  of  tlio  dying  creature,  who 
languishes  to  hear  the  words  of  life.  I  will  watch  the  baby 
while  you  are  gone." 

"  She  is  asleep,  and  needs  no  watching.  I  will  go,  as  you  seem 
po  anxious  about  it,"  and  I  took  my  pocket  Bible  from  the  table. 
"But  you  must  go  with  mo,  for  I  do  not  know  my  way  in  this 
Btrange  house." 

Carefully  closing  door  upon  the  sleeping  child,  I  followed  the 

light  steps  of  Mrs.  C along  the  pa'^sage,  until  we  reached  the 

liead  of  the  main  staircase,  then,  turning  to  the  riglit,  we  entered 
the  large  i)ublic  ball-room.  In  the  lirst  chamber  of  many  that 
opened  into  this  spacious  apartment  Ave  found  the  object  that  wo 
sought. 

Stretched  upon  a  low  bed,  with  a  feather  fan  in  his  hand,  to 
keep  off  the  flies  that  hovered  in  tormenting  clusters  round  his 
head,  lay  the  dying  Michael  Macbride. 

The  face  of  the  young  man  was  wasted  by  disease  and  mental 
anxiety ;  and  if  the  features  were  not  positively  handsome,  they 
weroVell  and  harmoniously  defined,  and  a  look  of  intelligence 
and  sensibility  pervaded  his  countenance,  which  greatly  inter- 
ested me  in  his  behalf.  His  face  was  deathly  pale,  as  pale  as 
marble,  and  his  large  sunken  eyes  shono  with  unnatural  brilliancy, 
their  long  dark  lashes  adding  an  expression  of  intense  melan- 
choly -to  theijatient  endurance  of  suffering  that  marked  his  fine 
countenance.  His  nose  was  shrunk  and  drawn  in  about  tho 
nostrils,  his  feverish  lips  apart,  in  order  to  admit  a  free  passage 
for  tho  labouring  breath,  their  bright  red  glow  affording  a  pain- 
ful contrast  to  the  ghastly  glitter  of  tho  brilliant  white  teeth 
within.  The  thick  black  curls  that  clustered  round  his  high  fore- 
head were  moist  with  perspiration,  and  the  same  cold  unwhole- 
some dew  trickled  in  large  drops  down  his  hollow  temples.  It 
was  impossible  to  mistake  these  signs  of  approaching  dissolution 
— ^it  was  evident  to  all  pi'csent  that  death  was  not  far  distant. 

An  indescribable  awe  crept  over  me.  lie  looked  so  tranquil, 
fio  sublimed  by  suffering,  tb  >t  I  felt  myself  unworthy  to  be  his 
teacher. 


f 


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102 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINQS. 


"  Michaol,"  I  said,  taking  tho  long  tliin  white  hand  tliat  lay  so 
listlessly  on  tlie  coverlid,  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  ill." 

lie  looked  at  mo  attentively  for  a  few  minutes. — •*  Do  not  say 
sorry,  Ma'am ;  rather  say  glad.  I  am  glad  to  get  away  from  this 
had  world — young  as  I  am — I  am  so  weary  of  it." 

He  sighed  deeply,  and  tears  filled  his  eyes. 

"  I  heard  that  you  wished  some  one  to  read  to  you." 

"  Yes,  tho  Bible  1"  he  cried  trying  to  raise  himself  in  tho  bed, 
while  his  eager  eyes  were  turned  to  mo  with  an  earnest,  imi)lor- 
ing  expression. 

"  I  have  it  hero.     A.re  you  able  to  read  it  for  yourself?" 

"  I  can  read  but  my  eyes  are  so  dim.  Tho  shadows  of  death 
float  between  me  and  the  world ;  I  can  no  longer  see  objects  dis- 
tinctly. But,  oh.  Madam,  if  my  soul  were  light,  I  should  not 
licad  this  blindness.  But  all  is  dark  here,"  laying  his  hana  on 
his  breast, — ''  dark  as  tho  grave." 

I  opened  the  sacred  book,  but  my  own  tears  for  a  moment  ob- 
scured the  page.  While  I  was  revolving  in  my  own  mind  what 
would  bo  tho  best  to  read  to  him,  tho  book  was  rudely  wrenched 
from  my  hand  by  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  who  just  then  entered  tho 
room.  • 

"  Och !  what  do  you  mane  by  dishturbing  him  in  his  dying  mo- 
ments wid  yor  trash  ?  It  is  not  tho  likes  o'  you  that  shall  throu- 
blo  his  sowl !  The  prasto  will  corao  and  administher  consolation 
to  him  in  his  last  exthremity." 

Michaol  shook  his  head,  and  turned  his  face  sorroAvfully  to  the 
wall. 

"  Oh,  mother,"  he  murmured,  "  is  that  the  way  you  treat  tho 
lady  ?" 

"Lady  or  no  lady,  and  I  mane  no  disrispict;  it  is  not  for 
tho  like  o'  her  to  take  this  on  hersel'.  If  she  will  be  rading,  let 
her  rado  this,"  and  she  tried  to  forco  a  book  of  devotional  pray- 
ers into  my  hand.  Michael  raised  himself,  and  with  an  impatient 
gesture  exclaimed — 

"  Not  that — ^not  that  1  It  speaks  no  comfort  to  mo.  I  will  not 
listen  to  it.  Mother,  mother  !  do  not  stand  between  me  and  my 
God.  I  know  that  you  love  me — that  what  you  do  is  done  for 
the  best ;  but  the  voice  of  conscience  will  be  heard  above  your 


1 


' 


I  I  ) 


LIFE    FN    TlIK    CLKAKINOS. 


193 


I 


<l 


i 


voice.  I  hunger  nnd  thirst  to  liear  the  word  as  it  stands  in  the 
Bible,  and  I  cannot  die  in  peace  unsati.sfied.  For  the  love  or 
Christ,  Ma'am,  read  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  a  dying  sinner!" 

Here  the  mother  again  interposed, 

"  My  good  woman,"  I  said,  gently  putting  her  back,  "  you  hear 
yonr  son's  earnest  request.  If  you  really  love  him,  you  will  ofl'er 
no  opposition  to  his  wishes.  It  is  not  a  question  of  creeds  that 
is  here  to  be  determined,  as  to  which  is  the  best — yours  or  mine. 
I  trust  that  all  the  faithful  followers  of  Christ,  however  named, 
liold  the  same  faith,  and  will  be  saved  by  the  same  means.  I 
shall  make  no  comment  on  what  I  read  to  your  son.  The  Bible 
is  its  own  interpreter.  The  Spirit  of  God,  by  whom  it  Avas  dic- 
tated, Avill  make  it  clear  to  his  comprehension.  Michael,  shall  I 
commence  noAV  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "with  the  blessing  of  God!" 

After  putting  up  a  short  prayer  I  commenced  reading,  and  con- 
tinued to  do  so  until  night,  taking  care  to  select  those  portions 
of  Scripture  most  applicable  to  his  case.  Never  did  human  crea- 
ture listen  with  more  earnestness  to  the  words  of  truth.  Often  hu 
repeated  whole  texts  after  me,  clasping  his  hands  together  in  a 
sort  of  ecstacy,  while  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  The  old 
M'oman  glared  upon  mo  from  a  far  corner,  and  muttered  over  her 
beads,  as  if  they  were  a  spell  to  secure  her  against  some  diabolical 
art.'  When  I  could  no  longer  see  to  read,  Michael  took  my  hand, 
aod  said  with  great  earnestness — 

"  May  God  bless  you.  Madam !  You  have  made  me  very 
happy.  It  is  all  clear  to  me  now.  In  Christ  alone  I  shall  obtain 
mercy  and  forgiveness  for  my  sins.  It  is  his  righteousness,  and 
not  any  good  works  of  my  own,  that  will  save  mo.  Death  no 
longer  appears^o  dreadful  to  me.     I  can  noAV  die  in  peace. 

"  You  believe  that  God  will  pardon  you,  Michael,  for  Christ's 
sake  ;  but  have  you  forgiven  all  your  enemies  ?" 

I  said  this  in  order  to  try  his  sincerity,  for  I  had  heard  that  he 
entertained  hard  thoughts  against  his  uncle. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  thin,  wasted  hands,  and  did  not 
answer  for  some  minutes ;  at  length  he  looked  up  with  a  calm 
smile  upon  his  lips,  and  said — 

"  Yes,  I  have  forgiven  all— even  Mm  ! — " 

9 


MkMMM 


104 


LIFfi    IN    TUE   CLEARINGS. 


Oil,  how  much  wfts  contained  in  the  stress  laid  bo  strongly  ftnil 
sttdly  upon  that  little  word  Him !  How  I  longed  to  hear  the 
story  of  wrongs  from  his  own  lips !  but  he  was  too  weak  and  ex- 
hausted for  mo  to  nrgo  such  a  request.  Just  thqp  Dr.  Mcrtuu 
catuo  in,  and  after  standing  for  some  minutes  at  the  bed-side,  re- 
garding his  patient  with  fixed  attention,  ho  felt  his  pulse,  spoke 
a  few  kind  words,  gave  some  trifling  order  to  his  mother  and 

Mrs.  C ,  and  left  the  room.    Struck  by  the  soleumity  of  his 

manner,  I  followed  him  into  the  outer  apartment. 

"  Excuse  the  liberty  I  am  taking,  Dr.  Morton ;  But  I  feel  deep- 
ly interested  in  your  patient.    Is  he  better  or  worse?" 

"Ho  is  dying.  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  him  in  his  last 
moments.  I  can  be  of  no  further  use  to  him.  Poor  lad,  it's  a 
pity !  lie  is  really  a  fine  young  fellow." 

I  had  judged  from  Michael's  appearance  that  ho  had  not  long  to 
live,  but  I  felt  inexpressibly  shocked  to  find  his  end  so  near.  On 
returning  to  the  sick  room,  Michael  eagerly  asked  what  tho 
doctor  thought  of  him? 

I  did  not  answer — I  could  not. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  that  I  must  die.  I  will  prepare  myself  for 
it.  If  I  live  until  tho  morning,  will  you.  Madam,  come  and  read 
to  me  again  ?" 

I  promised  him  that  I  would — or  during  tho  night,  if  ho  wish- 
ed it. 

"  I  feel  very  sleepy,"  ho  said.  "  I  have  not  slept  for  many 
nights,  but  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time.  Thank  God,  I  am 
entirely  free  from  pain :  it  is  very  good  of  llim  to  grant  me  this 
respite." 

]Iis  mother  and  I  adjusted  his  pillows,  and  in  a  few  seconds  ho 
was  slumbering  as  peacefully  as  a  little  child. 

Tho  feelings  of  tho  poor  woman  seemed  softened  towards  me, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  I  entered  the  room  she  shed  tears. 
I  asked  the  age  of  her  son  ?  She  told  me  that  ho  was  two-and- 
twenty.  She  wrung  my  hand  hard  as  I  left  the  room,  and 
thanked  mo  for  my  kindness  to  her  poor  hhoy. 

It  was  late  that  night  wlien  my  husband  returned  from  tho 
country,  and  we  sat  for  several  hours  talking  over  our  affairs, 
and  discussing  the  soil  and  situation  of  the  various  farms  he  had 


•f 


A 


<.♦., 


LIFB    IN    TUE    0LEAKINO6. 


195 


me, 
tears, 
-and- 

ancl 


ij 


visited  during  tho  dny.  It  waa  i)a8t  twelve  when  wo  retired  to 
rest,  but  iny  sleep  waa  soon  disturbed  by  soino  one  couj^liinK 
violently,  and  my  tboughtn  instantly  reverted  to  Michaol  Ma<',- 
bride,  as  tbe  hoarse  sepulchral  sounds  echoed  throu^di  the  larj^'o 
empty  room  beyond  which  ho  slept.  The  cougiiiii}^  continuetl 
for  some  minutes,  and  I  was  so  mueh  overcome  by  fatigue  and 
tho  excitement  of  tho  evening  that  I  fell  asleep,  and  did  not 
awake  until  six  o'clock  tho  following  morning. 

Anxious  to  hear  how  tho  poor  invalid  had  passed  the  night,  I 
dressed  myself  and  hurried  to  his  chamber. 

On  entering  the  ball-room  I  found  the  doors  and  windows  all 
open,  as  well  as  the  ono  that  led  to  the  sick's  man's  chamber. 
My  foot  was  arrested  on  the  threshold — for  death  was  there. 
Yes!  that  fit  of  coughing  had  terminated  his  life — Michael  had 
expired  without  a  struggle  in  tho  arms  of  his  mother. 

The  gay  broad  beams  of  tho  sun  were  not  admitted  into  that 
silent  room.  The  window  was  open,  but  tho  green  blinds  were 
carefully  closed,  admitting  a  free  circulation  of  air,  and  just  light 
enough  to  render  tho  objects  within  distinctly  visible.  Tho  body 
was  laid  out  upon  the  bed  enveloped  in  a  white  sheet ;  tho  head 
and  hands  alone  were  bare.  All  traces  of  sorrow  and  disease 
had  passed  away  from  tho  majestic  facb,  that,  i'.teresting  in  life, 
now  looked  beautiful  and  holy  in  death — and  happy,  for  tho 
seal  of  Heaven  seemed  visibly  impressed  upon  the  pure  palo 
brow.  lie  was  at  peace,  and  though  tears  of  human  sympathy 
for  a  iuoraent  dimmed  my  sight,  I  could  not  regret  that  it  was 
eo. 

"  While  I  stood  still  in  tho  door-way,  Mrs.  Macbride,  Avhom  I 
had  not  observed  until  then,  rose  from  her  knees  bcsido  the  bed. 
She  seemed  liardly  in  her  riglit  mind,  and  began  talking  and 
muttering  to  herself. 

"  Och  hone  1  he  is  dead — my  fine  bhoy  is  dead — widout  a 
prasto  to  pray  "wid  him,  or  bless  him  in  the  last  hour — wid  none 
of  his  frinds  and  relations  to  Jament  ivsr  him,  or  wako  him,  but 
his  poor  heart-broken  mother — Och  hone  1  Och  hone !  that  I 
should  ever  live  to  see  this  day.  Get  up,  my  fine  bhoy— get  up 
wid  ye !  Why  do  you  lie  there  ?— owlder  folk  nor  you  are  abroad 
in  tho  sunshine.    Get  up,  and  show  them  how  supple  you  are !" 


'■:      (, 


>iJ0ii 


190 


LIFE    IN   Tim    CLRARIIfOS. 


Tlioii  Inylng  hor  check  down  to  the  cold  check  of  tho  dead, 
ulio  excliiliiiod,  amid  broken  sobs  and  j^roans — 

"Oh,  spuko  to  mo — spako  to  inc,  Mike — my  own  Miko — 'tis 
tho  motlior  that  axes  yo." 

Thoro  waa  a  ,doop  pause,  when  tho  bereaved  parent  again 
broke  forth — 

"  Mike,  Mike — wliy  did  your  uncle  rare  you  like  a  jintlctimn 
to  bring  you  to  tliis.  Ocli  liono  1  och  hone! — oli,  never  did  1 
tiiiuk  to  SCO  your  head  lie  ko  low.  My  b)ioy  I  my  bhoy! — why 
did  you  die  ? — Why  did  you  liivo  your  friiulH,  ami  your  money, 
und  your  good  clothes,  and  your  poor  owld  mother?" 

Convulsivo  subs  again  cholvcd  her  utterance.  She  flung  hor- 
ficlf  upon  tho  neck  of  the  corpse,  and  bathed  tho  face  and  hands 
of  him,  wlio  had  once  boon  her  own,  with  burning  tears. 

I  now  cumo  forward,  and  offered  a  few  words  of  consolation. 
Vuin — all  in  vain.  The  ear  of  sorrow  is  deaf  to  all  save  its  own 
ugonLsed  moans.  Grief  is  as  natural  to  tho  liunmn  mind  as  joy, 
and  in  their  own  appointed  hour  both  will  have  their  way. 

Tho  gi'ief  of  this  unhappy  Irish  mother,  like  tho  down-pouring 
of  a  thunder  shower,  could  m;t  bo  restrained.  But  hi-r  tears 
soon  (lowed  in  lo;!S  violent  gushes — exhaustion  rendered  her  moro 
calm.  Sbo  sat  upon  tho  bed,  and  looked  cautiously  round — 
"  Hist ! — did  not  you  licar  a  voice  ?  It  was  him  who  spake — yea 
—it  was  Ids  own  swato  voice.  I  knew  ho  was  not  dead.  See, 
he  moves  I"  This  was  the  fond  vain  delusion  of  maternal  h)ve. 
She  took  his  cold  hand,  and  chxsped  it  to  hor  heart. 

"  Och  lione ! — ho  is  gone,  and  left  me  for  ever  and  ever.  Oh, 
that  my  cruel  brother  was  hero — that  I  might  point  to  my 
murtherod  child,  and  curse  him  to  his  face!" 

"Is  Mr.  C your  brother?"  said  I,  taking  this  opportunity 

to  divert  hor  grief  into  another  channel. 

"  Yes — yes — he  is  my  brother,  bad  cess  to  him!  and  uncle  to 
the  bhoy.  Listen  to  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  some  of  my  mind. 
It  will  ease  my  sorrow,  for  my  poor  heart  is  breaking  entirely, 
and  he  is  there,"  pointing  to  the  corpse,  "and  he  knows  that 
what  I  am  afther  telling  you  is  true. 

"  I  camo  of  poor  but  daceut  parints.  There  was  but  the  two 
of  us,  Pat  0 and  I.    My  father  rinted  a  good  farm,  and  he 


I 
1 


«) 


LI!'U    IN    THK    CLKAItlNaS. 


107 


Oil. 


«l 


Hint  Prtt  to  fichool,  and  k'^vo  liim  tlio  oddioiition  of  ft  Jiiitlotnftn. 
Our  IiiiKllnnl  took  n  liking,'  for  tlu)  blioy,  and  ^(iivo  liiin  the  Jimrics 
to  omigrftto  to  CuiDidy.  This  vexed  iii^  fatlier  iutirely,  for  lio 
Imd  no  ono  barring  myself  to  lielp  him  on  the  furyi.  Well,  hy 
and  by,  I  joined  myself  to  ono  whom  my  father  did  not  a()prove 
— a  bhoy  he  had  hired  to  work  wid  him  in  the  fields — an'  ho 
wrote  to  my  brother  (for  my  irutthcr  hiul  been  dead  ever  hinro  1 
was  a  weo  thing)  to  ax  him  in  what  manner  lio  liad  best  imnish 
my  disobedience ;  and  ho  jist  advises  him  to  turn  us  otf  the 
place.  I  sullerod,  wid  njy  huj  band,  tho  extremes  of  |M)vcrty  : 
wo  had  seven  childer,  but  thoy  all  died  of  tho  favor  and  hard 
times,  save  Miko  and  tho  two  woeny  ones.  In  tho  midst  of  our 
diathross,  it  plased  tho  Lord  to  rcm()Vo  my  father,  widout  soft- 
onin'  his  heart  towards  me.  Hut  ho  left  my  Miko  three  hundor 
pounds,  to  bo  hiii  whin  ho  came  to  a  right  ago ;  and  ho  a]>poinled 
my  brother  Pat  guardian  to  tho  bhoy. 

"  My  brother  returned  to  Ireland  when  ho  got  tho  news  of  my 
father's  death,  in  order  to  get  his  share  of  tho  property,  for  my 
father  left  him  tho  samo  as  ho  did  my  son,  llo  took  away  my 
bhoy  wid  him  to  Canady,  in  order  to  make  a  landed  jintleman 
of  him.  Och  bono!  I  thought  my  heart  would  broken  thin, 
whin  ho  took  away  my  swato  bhoy  ;  but  1  wiw  to  livo  to  see  a 
darker  day  yet." 

Hero  ft  long  burst  of  passionate  weeping  interrupted  her 
Btory. 

"  Many  long  years  camo  an'  wint,  and  wo  niver  got  tlie  scrapo 
of  ft  pen  from  my  brotlier  to  toll  us  of  the  bhoy  nt  nil  at  ail.  llo 
might  jist  as  well  have  been  dead,  for  aught  we  knew  to  tho  coii- 
thrary ;  but  wo  consowlcd  oursilvcs  wid  tho  thought,  that  ho 
would  niver  go  about  to  harm  his  oAvn  flesh  and  blood. 

"  At  last  a  letther  came,  written  in  Mike's  own  hand;  and  ft 
beautiful  hand  it  was  tliat  same, — the  good  God  bless  him  for  the 
throublo  ho  took  in  niakin'  it  so  nato  an'  aisy  for  us  poor  folk  to 
rade.  It  was  full  of  lovo  and  resj)ict  to  liis  poor  parents,  an'  ho 
longin'  to  sec  them  in  'Meriky ;  but  ho  said  ho  had  written  by 
stealth,  for  ho  was  very  unhappy  intircly, — that  his  unclo  tliratcd 
him  hardly,  bccazo  ho  would  not  ho  a  prastc, — an'  wanted  to 
lavo  him,  to  work  for  himsel' ;  an'  ho  refused  to  buy  him  ft  farm 


.^ 


198 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


/ 


wid  tho  money  his  gnmdfatlier  loft  him,  which  he  was  bound  by 
tbo  will  to  do,  as  Miko  was  now  of  age,  an'  his  own  masther. 

"  "Whin  we  got  tho  word  from  tlie  lud,  wo  gathered  our  little 
all  together,  an'  took  passage  for  Canady,  first  writin'  to  Mi!.<? 
whin  wo  should  start,  an'  the  name  of  the  vessel ;  an'  that  we 
sliould  wait  at  Oobourg  until  sich  time  as  ho  came  to  fetch  us 
himsel'  to  Lis  uncle's  place. 

"But  oh,  Ma'am,  our  throubles  had  only  begun.  My  poor 
husband  and  my  youngest  bhoy  died  of  the  cholera  comin'  out ; 
an'  I  saw  their  prechious  bodies  cast  into  tho  salt,  salt  saa.  Still 
thQ  hope  of  seeing  !^l^iko  consowlcd  me  for  all  my  disthreps. 
Poor  Pat  an'  I  were  worn  out  entirely  whin  we  got  to  Kingston, 
an'  I  left  the  child  wid  a  frind,  an'  came  on  alone, — I  was  so 
eager  to  see  Mike,  an'  tell  him  all  my  throubles ;  an'  there  ho 
lies,  och  hone !  my  heart,  my  poor  heart,  it  will  break  entirely." 

"And  what  caused  your  son's  separation  from  his  uncle?" 
said  I. 

Tho  woman  shook  her  head.  "The  thratemcnt  ho  got  from 
him  was  too  bad.  But  shure  ho  would  not  disthress  mo  by  say- 
ing aught  agin  my  mother's  son.  Did  he  not  brake  his  heart, 
and  turn  him  dying  an'  pinniless  on  tho  wide  world  ?  An'  could 
he  have  done  worse  had  he  stuck  a  knii'o  into  his  heart  ? 

"Ah  !"  she  continued  with  bitterness,  "it  was  tho  gowld,  tho 
dhirty  gowld,  that  kilt  ray  poor  bhoy.  His  uncle  knew,  that  if 
Miko  were  dead,  it  would  come  to  Pat  as  the  nco'est  in  degree, 
an'  he  could  keep  it  all  himsel'  for  the  ne'est  ten  years." 

This  statement  appeared  only  too  probable.  Still  there  was  a 
mystery  about  the  whole  affair  that  required  a  solution,  and  it 
was  several  years  before  I  accidentally  learned  the  sequel  of  this 
sad  history. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  messenger,  despatched  by  the  kind  Mr. 

S to  Petorboro'  to  inform  Michael's  uncle  of  tho  dying  state 

of  his  nephew,  returned  without  that  worthy,  and  with  this 
unfeeling  message — that  Michael  Macbride  had  left  him  without 
any  just  cause,  and  should  receive  no  consolation  from  him  in 
his  last  moments. 

Mr.  S did  not  inform  the  poor  bereaved  widow  of  her 

brother's  cruel  message;  but  finding  that  she  was  unable  tq 


4 


■I' 


' 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


199 


I 


Alia  > 


defrfty  tho  expenses  attendant  on  her  son's  ftmcrftl,  like  a  trno 
Bamaritan,  lie  supplied  them  out  of  liis  own  pocket,  and  followed 
the  remains  of  tho  unliappy  stranger  that  Providence  had  cast 
upon  his  charity  to  the  grave.  In  accordance  with  Michael's 
last  request,  ho  was  huricd  in  tho  cemetery  of  the  English 
church. 

Six  years  after  these  events  took  place,  Mr.  W called  upon 

mo  at  our  place  in  Douro,  and  among  other  things  told  me  of  the 
death  of  Michael's  uncle,  Mr.  C .  Many  things  were  men- 
tioned by  Mr.  "VV ,  who  happened  to  know  him,  to  his  disad- 
vantage. "  But  of  all  his  evil  acts,"  he  said,  "  the  worst  thing 
I  know  of  him  was  his  conduct  to  his  nephew." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  said  I,  as  the  death-bed  of  Michael  Mac- 
bride  rose  distinctly  before  me. 

"  It  was  a  bad  business.  My  housekeeper  lived  with  tho  old 
man  at  the  time,  and  from  her  I  heard  all  about  it.  It  seems 
that  ho  had  been  left  guardian  to  this  boy,  whom  he  brought  out 
with  him  some  years  ago  to  this  country,  together  with  a  little 
girl  about  two  years  younger,  who  was  the  child  of  a  daughter 
cf  his  mother  by  a  former  marriage,  so  that  the  children  were 
half-cousins  to  each  other.  Elizabeth  waa  a  modest,  clever  little 
creature,  and  grew  up  a  very  pretty  girl.  Michael  was  strikingly 
handsome,  had  a  fine  talent  for  music,  and  in  person  and  man- 
ners was  far  above  his  condition.  There  was  some  property,  to 
the  amount  of  several  hundred  pounds,  coining  to  the  lad  when 
ho,  reached  the  age  of  twenty-one.    This  legacy  had  been  left 

him  by  his  grandfather,  and  Mr.  0 was  to  invest  it  in  land 

for  the  boy's  use.  This,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  ho 
neglected  to  do,  and  brought  the  lad  up  to  tho  service  of  tho  altar, 
and  continually  urged  hun  to  become  a  priest.  TJiis  did  not  at 
all  accord  with  Michael's  views  and  wishes,  and  ho  obstinately 
refused  to  study  for  the  holy  office,  and  told  his  uncle  that  ho 
meant  to  become  a  farmer  bs  soon  as  he  obtained  his  majority. 

"Living  constantly  iu  tho  same  hou?.-,  and  possessing  a  cou- 
genialit.v  of  tastes  and  pursuits,  a  strong  affection  had  gz*own  up 
between  Michael  and  his  cousin,  which  circumstance  proved  tho 

ostensible  reason  given  by  Mr.  0 for  his  ill  conduct  to  tho 

young  people,  as  by  the  laws  of  his  church  they  were  too  near 


t  ^ 


4Ma 


mttmmm 


iMiilii 


■y 


200 


LIFK    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


of  kin  to  marry.  Finding  that  their  attachment  was  too  strong 
to  bo  wrenched  asunder  by  threats,  and  that  they  had  actually 
formed  a  design  to  leave  him,  and  embrace  the  Protestant  faith, 
he  confined  the  girl  to  her  chamber,  without  allowing  her  a  fire, 
during  a  very  severe  winter.  Her  constitution,  naturally  v.eak, 
sunk  under  these  trials,  and  she  died  early  in  the  spring  of  1832, 
without  being  allowed  the  melancholy  satisfaction  of  seeing  licr 
lover  before  she  closed  her  brief  life. 

"Her  death  decided  Michael's  fate.  Rendered  desperate  by 
grief,  he  reproached  his  bigoted  uncle  as  the  author  of  his  misery, 
and  demanded  of  him  a  settlement  of  his  property,  as  it  was  his 

intention  to  quit  his  roof  for  ever.    Mr.  0 laughed  at  his 

reproaches,  and  treated  his  threats  with  scorn,  and  finally  cast 
liim  friendless  upon  the  world. 

"  The  poor  fellow  played  very  well  upon  the  flute,  and  possessed 
an  excellent  tenor  voice ;  and,  by  the  means  of  these  accomplish- 
ments, he  contrived  for  a  few  weeks  to  obtain  a  precarious 
living. 

"  Broken-hearted  and  alono  in  the  world,  he  soon  fell  a  victim 
to  hereditary  disease  of  the  lungs,  and  died,  I  have  been  told,  at 
an  hotel  in  Coburg;  and  was  buried  at  the  expense  of  Mr. 
S ,  the  tavern-keeper,  out  of  charity." 

"The  latter  part  of  your  statement  I  know  to  bo  correct ;  and 
the  whole  of  it  forcibly  corroborates  the  account  given  to  mo  by 
the  poor  lad's  mother.  I  was  at  Michael's  death-bed ;  and  if  his 
life  was  replete  with  sorrow  and  injustice,  his  last  hours  wcro 
peaceful  and  happy." 

I  could  now  fully  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  sad  stress 
laid  upon  the  one  word,  which  had  struck  mo  so  forcibly  at  tlio 
time,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  had  forgiven  all  his  enemies,  and 
ho  replied,  after  that  lengthened  pause,  "Yes;  I  have  f&rgiven 
them  all — even  Mm  /" 

It  did,  indeed,  require  some  exertion  of  Christian  forbearance 
to  forgive  such  injuries. 


A 


Kjl    > 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


201 


and 
10  by 
bis 
wcro 

»trcss 
t  tlio 
and 
iven 

•ance 


•') 


SONG. 

"  There's  hope  for  those  who  sleep 
In  the  cold  and  silent  grave, 
For  those  who  smile,  for  those  who  weep, 
For  the  freeman  and  tho  slave  I 

"  There's  hojpe  on  the  battle  plain, 
'Mid  the  shock  of  charging  foes ; 
On  the  dark  and  troubled  main, 
When  the  gale  in  thunder  blows 

"  He  who  dispenses  hope  to  all, 
Withholds  it  not  from  thee  : 
He  breaks  the  woe-worn  captive's  thrall, 
And  sets  the  prisoner  free  I" 


> 


CHAPTER  XII. 

**  Ah,  human  hearts  are  strangely  cast, 
Time  softens  grief  and  pain ; 
Like  Tceia  that  shiver  in  the  blast, 

They  bend  to  rise  again. 
But  slie  in  silence  bowed  iier  head, 
,  To  none  her  sorrow  would  impart : 

Earth's  faithful  arms  enclose  the  dead, 
And  hide  for  aye  her  broken  heart," 

S.  M. 

WniLK  the  steamboat  is  leaving  Cobonrg  in  the  distance,  and, 
through  tlie  hours  of  night  and  darkness,  holds  on  her  course  to 
Toronto,  I  will  relate  another  true  but  mournful  histo'-y  from 
the  romance  ol  early  life,  that  was  told  to  me  during  my  resi- 
dence in  this  part  of  tho  country. 

One  morning  our  man-servant,  James  N ,  came  to  mo  to 

request  the  loan  of  one  of  the  horses  to  attend  a  funeral.    M 

was  absent  on  business  at  Toronto,  and  the  horses  and  the  man's 
time  were  both  greatly  needed  to  prepare  tho  laud  for  tho  fall 

9* 


'M- 


^■11 


202 


UTB  IN  TIIB   CLBARI170B. 


crop  of  wlicat.  I  dcmurrecl ;  Jamos  looked  anxious  arid  disap- 
pointed ;  and  the  loan  of  the  horse  was  at  length  granted,  but 
not  without  a  strict  injunction  that  he  should  return  to  his  work 
directly  the  funeral  was  over.  lie  did  not  come  hack  until  lato 
tlmt  evening. 

I  had  just  finished  my  tea,  and  was  nursing  my  wrath  at  his 
staying  out  the  whole  day,  when  the  door  of  the  room  (we  had 
but  one,  and  that  was  shared  in  common  with  the  servants) 
opened,  and  the  delinquent  at  last  appeared.  He  liung  up  the 
now  English  saddle,  and  sat  down  before  the  blazing  hearth 
without  speaking  a  word. 

"  What  detained  you  so  long,  James  ?  You  ought  to  have 
had  half  an  acre  of  land,  at  least,  ploughed  to-day." 

"  Verra  true,  mistress ;  it  was  nae  fau't  o'  mine.  I  had  mis- 
ta'en  the  hour ;  the  funeral  did  na  come  in  afore  sun-doon,  an'  I 


cam'  awa'  as  sune  as  it  was  owre." 


"  Wa^  it  any  relation  of  yours  ?" 

"  Na',  na',  jost  a  frecnd,  an  auld  acquaintance,  but  nano  o' 
mine  ain  kin.  I  never  felt  sao  sad  in  a'  my  life  as  I  ha'o  duno 
this  day.  I  ha'o  seen  the  clods  piled  on  mony  a  hcid,  an'  never 
felt  the  saut  tear  in  my  een.  But  puir  Jeanie !  puir  lass !  it  was 
a  sair  sight  to  see  them  thrown  down  upon  her." 

My  curiosity  was  excited ;  I  pushed  the  tea-things  from  mo, 
and  told  Bell,  my  maid,  to  give  James  his  supper. 

"  Naethiug  for  me  the  night,  Bell.  I  canna'  eat ;  my  thoughts 
will  a'  run  on  that  puir  lass.  Sae  young,  sae  bonnie,  an'  a  foAV 
months  ago  as  blytho  as  a  lark,  an'  noo  a  clod  o'  the  airth. 
ITout!  we  maun  a'  dee  when  our  ain  time  comes;  but,  some- 
how, I  canna  think  that  Jeanie  ought  to  ha'e  gano  sao  sune." 

"Who  is  Jeanie  Burns?  Tell  me,  James,  something  about 
her  ?" 

In  compliance  with  my  request,  the  man  gave  me  the  follow- 
ing story.  I  wish  I  could  convey  it  in  his  own  words;  but 
thougli  I  perfectly  understand  tlie  Scotch  dialect  when  I  hoar  it 
spoken,  I  could  not  write  it  in  its  charming  simplicity, — that 
honest,  truthful  brevity,  which  is  so  characteristic  of  this  noble 
people.  The  smooth  tones  of  the  blarney  may  flatter  our  van- 
ity, auc'  please  us  for  the  moment,  but  who  places  any  confi- 


1' 


1 


mo, 

iglits 

fCAV 

lirth. 


kboiit 

llow- 
,,  but 
liar  it 
-that 
loblo 
Ivan- 
jonfi- 


. 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEAUIN08. 


203 


(lenco  in  those  by  whom  it  is  employed  ?  Wo  know  that  it  is 
only  uttered  to  cajole  and  deceive ;  and  when  the  novelty  wears 
off,  the  repetition  awakens  indignation  and  disgust.  Bat  who 
mistrusts  the  blunt,  straightforward  speech  of  the  land  of 
Burns  ?  for  good  or  ill,  it  strikes  home  to  the  heart. 

Jeanie  Burns  was  the  daughter  of  a  respectable  shoemaker, 
who  gained  a  comfortable  living  by  his  trade  in  a  small  town  of 
Ayrshire.  Her  father,  like  herself,  was  an  only  child,  and  fol- 
lowed the  same  vocation,  and  wrought  under  the  same  roof  that 
his  father  had  done  before  him.  The  elder  Bums  had  met  with 
many  reverses,  and  now,  helpless  and  blind,  was  entirely  de- 
pendent upon  the  charity  of  his  son.  Honest  Jock  had  not 
married  until  late  in  life,  that  he  might  more  comfortably  pro- 
vide for  the  wants  of  his  aged  parents.  His  mother  had  been 
dead  for  some  years.  She  was  a  good,  pious  woman,  and  Jock 
quaintly  affirmed  "  that  it  had  pleased  the  Lord  to  provide  a 
better  inheritance  for  his  dear  auld  mither  than  his  arm  could  win, 
proud  an'  happy  as  ho  wud  ha'o  been  to  ha'e  supported  her, 
when  she  was  nac  langer  able  to  work  for  him." 

Jock's  filial  love  was  repaid  at  last.  Chance  threw  in  his 
way  a  cannie  young  lass,  baith  gude  an'  bonnie,  an'  wi'  a  hantel 
o'  siller.  They  were  united,  and  Jeanie  was  the  sole  fniit  of  the 
marriage.  But  Jeanie  proved  a  host  in  herself,  and  grew  up  the 
bcst-natured,  the  prettiest,  aud  the  most  industrious  girl  in  the 
village,  and  was  a  general  favorite  with  young  and  old.  She 
helped  her  mother  in  the  house,  bound  shoes  for  her  father,  and 
attended  to  all  the  wants  of  her  dear  old  grandfather,  Saunders 
Burns,  who  was  so  much  attaolied  to  his  little  handmaid,  that  ho 
was  never  happy  when  she  was  absent. 

Happiness,  however,  is  not  a  flower  of  long  growtli  in  this 
world ;  it  requires  tlio  dew  and  sunlight  of  heaven  to  nourisli  it, 
and  it  soon  withers,  removed  from  its  native  skies.  The  cholera 
visited  the  remote  village;  it  smote  the  strong  )nan  in  the  prido 
of  his  strength,  and  the  matron  in  the  beauty  of  her  [trime, 
while  it  spared  the  helpless  and  tlie  aged,  the  infant  of  a  lew 
days,  and  the  patriarch  of  many  years.  Both  Jeanio's  parents 
fell  victims  to  the  fatal  disease,  and  the  old  blind  Saunders  aud 


m' 


■trjtmm 


204 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINOfl. 


^■H 


m 


the  young  Jeunio  were  left  to  fight  alone  a  hard  battle  with  po- 
verty and  grief. 

The  truly  deserving  are  never  entirely  forsaken ;  God  may 
afflict  them  with  many  trials,  but  ho  watches  over  them  still, 
and  often  provides  for  their  wants  in  a  manner  truly  miraculous. 
Sympathizing  friends  gathered  round  the  orphan  girl  in  her  hour 
of  need,  and  obtained  for  her  sufficient  employment  to  enable 
her  to  support  her  old  grandfather  and  herself,  and  provide  for 
them  the  common  necessaries  of  life. 

Jeanio  was  an  excellent  seamstress,  and  what  between  making 
waistcoats  and  trousers  for  the  tailors,  and  binding  shoes  for  the 
shoemakers, — a  business  that  she  thoroughly  understood, — she 
soon  had  her  little  hired  room  neatly  furnished,  and  her  grand- 
father as  clean  and  spruce  as  over.  When  she  led  him  into  the 
kirk  of  a  sabbath  morning,  all  th6  neighbours  greeted  the  dutiful 
daughter  with  an  approving  smile,  and  the  old  man  looked  so 
serene  and  happy  that  Jeanie  was  fully  repaid  for  her  labours  of 
love. 

Her  industry  and  piety  often  formed  the  theme  of  conversation 
to  the  young  lads  of  the  village.  "  What  a  guid  wife  Jeanie 
Burns  wuU  mak'!"  cried  one. 

"  Aye,"  said  another ;  "  he  need  na  complain  of  ill  fortin  who 
has  the  luck  to  get  the  like  o'  her." 

"An'  she's  sae  bonnie,"  would  Willie  Kobertson  add,  with  a 
sigh ;  "  I  wud  na  covet  the  wealth  o'  the  hale  world  an'  sho 
were  mine." 

Willie  Robertson  was  a  fine  active  young  man,  who  bore  nu 
excellent  character,  and  his  comrades  thought  it  very  likely  that 
Willie  was  to  be  the  fortunate  man.  Robertson  was  the  son  of 
a  farmer  in  the  neighborhood ;  he  had  no  land  of  his  own,  and 
he  was  the  youngest  of  a  very  large  family.  From  a  boy  he 
had  assisted  his  father  in  working  the  farm  for  their  common 
maintenance ;  but  after  he  took  to  looking  at  Jeanie  Bums  at  kirk, 
instead  of  minding  his  prayers,  ho  began  to  wish  that  ho  had  a 
liomestead  of  liis  own,  which  he  could  ask  Jeanie  and  her  grand- 
father to  share. 
He  made  his  wishes  known  to  his  father.    The  old  man  was 


i 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLBAUINOS. 


206 


i 


I  > 


prudent.  A  marriage  with  Jeanio  Burns  ofTerc^  no  advantages 
in  a  pecuniary  view;  but  the  girl  was  a  good,  honest  girl,  of 
whom  any  man  might  be  proud,  lie  had  himself  maiTied  for 
love,  and  had  enjoyed  great  comfort  in  liis  wife. 

"  Willie,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "  I  canna  gi'e  yo  a  share  o'  the 
farm.  It  is  owre  sma'  for  the  mony  mouths  it  has  to  feed.  I 
ha'e  laid  by  a  hantel  o'  siller  for  a  rainy  day,  an'  this  I  maun 
gi'e  yo  to  win  a  farm  for  yoursel'  in  the  woods  of  Canada. 
Tliere  is  plenty  o'  room  there,  an'  industry  brings  its  ain  reward. 
If  Jeanio  Burns  lo'es  you  as  weel  as  your  dear  mither  did  mo, 
she  will  be  fain  to  follow  you  there. 

Willie  grasped  his  father's  hand,  for  he  was  too  much  elated 
to  speak,  and  he  ran  away  to  tell  his  tale  of  lovo  to  the  girl  of 
his  heart.  Joanie  had  long  loved  Eobertson  in  secret,  and  they 
were  not  long  in  settling  the  matter.  They  forgot,  in  their  first 
moments  of  joy,  that  old  Saunders  had  to  be  consulted,  for  they 
had  determined  to  take  the  old  man  with  them.  But  here  an 
obstacle  occurred,  of  which  they  had  not  dreamed.  Old  age  is 
selfish,  and  Saunders  obstinately  refused  to  comply  with  their 
wishes.  The  grave  that  held  the  remains  of  his  wife  and  sou 
was  dearer  to  him  than  all  the  comforts  promised  to  him  by  the 
impatient  lovers  in  that  far  foreign  land.  Jeanio  wept,  but 
Saunders,  deaf  and  blind,  neither  heard  nor  saw  her  grief,  and 
like  a  dutiful  child  she  breathed  no  complaint  to  him,  but  pro- 
mised to  remain  with  him  until  his  head  rested  on  the  same  pil- 
low, with  the  dead. 

This  was  a  sore  and  great  trial  to  Willie  Robertson,  but  lie 
consoled  himself  for  the  disappointment  with  the  reflection  that 
Saunders,  in  the  course  of  nature,  could  not  live  long;  and  that 
he  would  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  his  Jean,  and  have  every- 
thing ready  for  her  reception  against  the  old  man  died. 

"I  was  a  cousin  of  Willie's,"  continued  James,  "  by  the 
mither's  side,  an'  her  persuaded  me  to  go  wi'  him  to  Canada. 
We  set  sail  the  first  o'  May,  an'  were  hero  in  time  to  chop  a  sma' 
fallow  for  our  fall  crop.  Willie  had  more  o'  the  warld's  gear 
than  I,  for  his  father  had  i)rovided  him  wi'  sufficient  funds  to 
purchase  a  good  lot  o'  wild  land,  which  he  did  in  the  township 
of  M ,  an'  I  was  to  wark  wi'  him  on  shares.    Wo  were  araang 


i  f^ 


^MiMMiia 


200 


LIFE    IN    THE    OLEARTNOfl. 


J  i 


.1 


tho  first  flettlora  in  tliat  plaje,  nn'  wo  found  the  wnrk  before  ns 
rough  and  hard  to  our  lieart's  content,  Willie,  however,  had  a 
strong  motive  for  exertion,  an'  neever  did  man  wark  harder  tlian 
lio  did  that  first  year  on  his  bush-farin,  for  the  love  o'  Jeanio 
Burns.  We  built  a  comfortable  log-house,  in  which  we  were 
assisted  by  the  few  neigbours  we  had,  who  likewise  lent  a  ban' 
in  clearing  ten  acres  we  had  chopped  for  fall  crop. 

"  All  this  time  Willie  kept  up  a  correspondence  wi'  Jeanie ; 
an'  he  used  to  talk  to  mo  o'  her  comin'  out,  an'  his  future  plans, 
every  night  when  our  wark  was  dune.  If  I  had  na  lovit  and 
respected  tho  girl  mysel',  I  sud  ha'o  got  unco  tired  o'  tho  sub- 
ject. 

"  We  had  jest  put  in  our  first  crop  o'  wheat,  when  a  letter 
cam'  frae  Jeanie  bringin'  us  the  news  o'  her  grandfather's  death. 
Weel  I  ken  the  word  that  Willie  spak'  to  me  when  he  closed  tho 
letter, — '  Jamie,  the  auld  man's  gane  at  last ;  an'  God  forgi'o  me, 
I  fool  too  gladsompi  to  greet.  Jeanio  is  willin'  to  come  whenever 
I  ha'o  the  means  t ;  bring  Tier  out ;  an'  hout,  man,  I'm  jest  think- 
in'  that  she  winna  ha'o  to  wait  lang.' 

"  Guid  workmen  were  gettiu'  vei'y  high  wages  jest  then,  an' 
Willie  left  the  care  o'  the  place  to  mo,  an'  hired  for  three  months 
wi'  auld  Squire  Jones,  in  the  next  township.  Willie  was  an  unco 
guid  teamster,  an'  could  put  his  ban'  to  ony  kind  o'  wark  ;  an' 
when  his  term  o'  service  expired,  he  sent  Jeanie  forty  dollars  to 
pay  her  passage  out,  which  he  hoped  she  would  not  delay  longer 
than  tho  spring. 

"  Ho  got  an  answer  frae  Jeanie  full  o'  love  an'  gratitude ;  but 
she  thought  that  her  voyage  might  bo  delayed  until  the  fall. 
The  guid  woman  with  whom  she  had  lodged  sin'  her  parents 
died  had  jest  lost  her  husband,  an'  was  in  a  bad  state  o'  health, 
an'  she  begged  Jeanio  to  bide  wi'  her  until  her  daughter  coxdd 
leave  her  service  in  Edinburg,  an'  come  to  tak'  charge  o'  tho 
house.  This  person  had  been  a  kiiid  an'  steadfast  ft-in'  to  Jeanio 
in  a'  her  troubles,  an'  had  helped  her  to  nurse  tho  auld  man 
in  his  dyin'  illnoss.  I  am  sui'o  it  was  jest  like  Jcaiiio  to  act  as 
she  did ;  she  had  all  her  life  looked  more  to  tho  comforts  of 
others  than  to  her  ain.  Robertson  was  an  angry  man  when  ho 
got  that  letter,  an'  he  said, — *  If  that  was  a'  the  lo'e  that  Jeanio 


1 


< 


ggnjMJgW 


t 


LIFE   IN    THE   CLEARINGS. 


207 


1^ 


' 


Burns  hnd  for  him,  to  prefer  an  mild  wife's  comfort,  wha  was 
naetlung  to  her,  to  her  betrothed  liusband,  she  might  bide  awa' 
as  lang  as  she  pleased  j  ho  would  never  fash  himseP  to  uiak' 
screed  o'  pen  to  her  agon.' 

"  I  could  na  think  that  the  man  was  in  earnest,  an'  I  remon- 
strated wi'  him  on  his  folly  an'  i^jostioe.  This  ended  in  a  sharp 
quarrel  atween  us,  and  I  left  him  to  gang  his  ain  gait,  an'  went 
to  live  with  my  uncle,  who  kept  the  smithy  in  the  village. 

"  After  a  while,  we  heard  that  Willie  Robertson  was  married 
to  a  Canadian  woman,  neither  young  nor  good-looking,  an'  vara 
much  his  inferior  ever>  way ;  but  she  had  a  good  lot  o'  land  in 
the  rear  o'  his  farm.  Of  course  I  thought  it  was  a'  broken  aff 
wi'  puir  Jean,  an'  I  wondered  what  she  wud  spier  at  the  marriage. 

"  It  was  early  in  June,  an'  the  Canadian  woods  were  in  their 
firct  flush  o'  green, — an'  how  green  an'  lightsome  they  bo  in  their 
spring  dress  1 — when  Jeanie  Bums  landed  in  Canada.  She  tra- 
velled her  lane  up  the  country,  wonderin'  why  "Willie  was  not  at 
Montreal  to  meet  her,  as  he  had  promised  in  the  last  Totter  ho 
sent  her.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  steamer  brought 
her  to  Coburg,  an'  without  waitin'  to  ask  ony  questions  respectiu' 
him,  sho  hired  a  man  an'  cart  to  take  her  an'  her  luggage  to 

M .    The  road  through  the  bush  was  vera  heavy,  an'  it  wafj 

night  before  they  reached  Robertson's  clearin'.  Wi'  some  difii- 
culty  the  driver  fund  his  way  among  the  charred  logs  to  the 
cabin  door. 

"  Ilearin'  tho  sound  o'  wheels,  the  wife — a  coarse,  ill-dressod 
slattern — cam'  out  to  spier  wha  could  bring  strangers  to  sic'  sin 
out-o'-the-way  place  at  that  late  hour.  Pulr  Jeanie !  I  can  weel 
imagin'  tho  flutterin'  o'  her  heart,  when,  she  spiered  o'  tho  coarso 
wife  '  if  her  ain  Willie  Robertson  was  at  hamo  V 

"'Yes,'  answered  the  woman  grulHy  ;  'but  he  is  not  in  frao 
the  fallow  yet.  You  maun  ken  him  up  yonder,  tending  tho  blaz- 
ing logs.' 

"Whiles  Jeanie  \vas  striviu' to  look  in  the  direction  w]ii«;li 
the  woman  pointed  out,  nu'  could  nu  see  through  the  tears  that 
blinded  her  o'o,  the  driver  jumped  down  ti'ao  tho  cart,  an'  asked 
the  puir  Uiss  whar  he  sur  leave  her  trunks,  as  it  was  getting  hitc, 
and  ho  must  be  aff. 


.'  '-^ 


'    . 


n- 


I  •: 


rp 


''III' 


w 

llj. 


if: 


208 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAUIKOB. 


"  'You  ncod  na  bring  thao  bi^  kists  in  here,'  qnotli  Mistress 
Robertson;  'I  ha'e  na  room  in  my  houso  for  strangers  an'  thiur 
luggage.' 

"Your  houso  I'  gasped  Jeatiio,  catcbin'  lior  arm.  'Did  ye  na 
tell  me  he  lived  here? — an'  ■wherever  Willie  Ilobertson  bides, 
Jeanie  Burns  Bud  be  a  welcome  guest.  Toll  hin>,'  she  continued, 
trerablin'  all  owre, — for  she  tolt  me  afterwards  that  there  was 
somethin'  in  the  woman's  look  an'  tone  that  made  the  cold  chills 
run  to  her  heart, — 'that  an  auld  frind  frao  Scotland  has  jest 
come  aff  a  lang,  wearisome  journey  to  see  him." 

"  '  You  may  spier  for  yoursel',  said  the  woman,  angrily.  '  My 
husband  is  noo  comin'  dune  tho  clearin." 

"  The  word  husband  was  scarcely  out  o'  her  mouth,  than  puir 
Joanio  fell  as  ane  dead  across  the  door-stair.  The  driver  lifted 
up  tho  unfortunat'  girl,  carried  her  into  the  cabin,  an'  placed  hor 
in  a  chair,  regardless  o'  the  opposition  of  Mistress  Robertson, 
whose  jealousy  was  now  fairly  aroused,  an'  she  declared  that 
the  bold  hizzie  sud  not  enter  her  doors. 

"It  was  a  long  time  afore  tho  driver  succeeded  in  bringin' 
Jeanie  to  hersel' ;  au'  she  had  only  jest  unclosed  her  een,  when 
Willie  cam'  in. 

"  '  Wife,'  he  said,  '  whose  cart  is  this  standiu'  at  the  door  ?  an' 
what  do  these  people  want  hero  ?' 

"  '  You  ken  best,'  cried  the  angry  woman.  '  That  creator  is 
nao  acquaintance  o'  mine ;  an'  if  she  is  suffered  to  remain  hero, 
I  will  quit  the  house.' 

"  '  Forgi'o  me,  gude  woman,  for  having  unwittingly  offended 
you,'  said  Jeanie,  rising ;  '  but,  mercifu'  Father !  how  sud  I  ken 
that  Willie  Robertson — my  ain  Willie— had  a  wife !  Oh,  Willie  I' 
she  cried,  coverin'  her  faco  in  her  hands,  to  hide  a'  the  agony 
that  was  in  her  heart,  'I  ha'e  come  a  lang  way,  an'  a  weary,  to 
soe  ye,  an'  ye  might  ha'e  spared  mo  tho  grief,  tho  burnin'  sJiamo 
o'  this.  Fareweol,  Willie  Robertson  I  I  will  never  mair  trouble 
ye  nor  her  wi'  ray  presence ;  but  this  cruel  deed  o'  yours  has 
broken  my  heart !' 

"  Sho  wont  her  lane  woepiu',  an'  ho  had  na  the  courago  to 
detain  her,  or  speak  ao  word  o'  comfort  in  her  sair  distress,  or 
attempt  to  gi'o  ony  account  o'  his  strange  conduct.    Yet,  if  I 


1 


• "ir-T'TB1 


LIFE    IM    TUBS    CLRARINOH. 


209 


*My 


17 


^'^ 


( 


ken  liiin  right,  tlmt  must  hiCo  boon  the  most  Borrowfu'  nioinont 
in  his  life. 

"  Je/inio  was  a  distant  connexion  o'  my  aiint'H ;  an'  h1»o  found 
us  out  that  niglit,  on  lier  return  to  tlio  village,  an'  tonld  us  a' 
lier  grief.  My  aunt  was  a  kind,  guid  wonuin,  an'  wjw  intlignant 
at  the  treatment  she  had  received,  an'  loved  and  cherished  her 
as  if  slie  had  been  her  ain  bairn.  For  two  whole  weeks  %ho 
kept  Iter  bed,  an'  was  sao  ill,  that  the  doctor  despaired  o'  her 
life;  and  when  she  did  como  amang  us  agen,  tho  rose  had  faded 
aff  lier  cheek,  an'  tho  light  frao  her  sweot  blue  o'o,  an'  ahe  spak' 
in  a  low,  subdued  voice;  but  she  never  accused  liim  o'  being  tho 
cause  ()'  her  grief.    One  day  she  called  mo  aside  and  said — 

" '  Jamie,  yon  ken'd  liow  I  lo'ed  an'  trusted  liim,  an'  obeyed 
his  ain  wish  in  comin'  out  to  this  woarisomo  country  to  bo  his 
wife.  But  'tis  a'  owro  now.'  An'  she  passed  her  sma'  hands 
tightly  owre  her  breast,  to  keep  doon  the  swellin'  o'  her  heart. 
*  Jamie,  I  ken  that  this  is  a'  for  tho  best ;  I  lo'ed  him  too  weel, — 
mair  than  ony  creature  sud  lo'o  a  perishin'  thing  o'  enrtli.  JJut 
I  thought  that  lie  wnd  bo  sac  glad  an'  sao  proud  to  see  his  ain 
Jeanie  sao  suno.  But,  oh! — ah,  weel;  I  maun  na  think  o'  that. 
What  I  wud  jest  say  is  this' — and  she  tuk  a  sma'  packet  frao 
her  breast,  while  tho  saut  tears  streamed  doon  her  pale  cliecks 
— 'ho  sent  mo  forty  dollars  to  bring  me  owro  the  sea  to  him. 
God  bless  him  for  that!  I  ken  ho  worked  hard  to  earn  it,  for  ho 
lo'ed  mo  then.  I  was  na  idle  during  his  absence ;  I  had  saved 
enough  to  bury  my  dear  anld  grandfather,  an'  to  pay  my  cx- 
])enses  out ;  an'  I  thought,  like  the  guid  servant  in  tho  pavablo, 
I  wud  return  Willie  his  ain  wi'  interest,  an'  I  hf)ped  to  see  liim 
emilo  at  my  diligence,  an'  ca'  mo  his  dear,  bonnio  lassie.  Jamio, 
I  canna  keep  his  siller;  it  lies  liko  a  weight  o'  load  on  my  licart. 
Tak'  it  back  to  him,  an'  tell  him  frae  mo,  that  I  forgi'o  him  a'  his 
cruel  deceit,  an'  pray  God  to  grant  him  prosperity,  an'  restore 
to  him  that  peace  o'  mind  o'  which  lie  has  robbed  mo  for 
over.' 

"I  did  as  she  bade  mo.  Willio  Robertson  looked  stupifiod 
when  I  delivered  her  message.  Tho  only  remark  ho  made  when 
I  gied  him  the  siller  was,  'I  maun  bo  gratcfu',  man,  that  she  did 
na  curse  mo.'    The  wife  cam'  in,  r-n'  ho  hid  awa'  the  packet  and 


210 


MFR    IK    Tlin    OI.KAniyOfl, 


Hlnnk  afT.    Tlio  innn  lookod  <lof?rn«lo(l  in  Ills  ftin  Blcfht,  fin'  nno 
wrctchc<l,  flint  I  pilie<l  liim  frao  my  lusart, 

"When  I  cam' liniuo,  .Jonnir  mot,  me  at  tlio  yot.  'Tell  mo,' 
hIio  said,  in  a  dowlo,  anxious  voice,—'  toll  nic,  cousin  Jamie, 
■vvliat  passed  atween  yo.    Had  Willie  nae  word  for  mo  ?' 

"'Naothin^',  Jeanio.  The  man  is  lo8t  to  himsel' — tea'  who 
anfo  wished  him  wool.  IIo  is  na  worth  a  decent  hody's 
thought.' 

"She  sighed  sairly;  an'  I  saw  that  her  heart  craved  after 
some  Avord  or  token  frao  hiin.  Sho  said  nao  mair;  but  pale  an' 
horrowful,  the  verra  ghaist  o'  her  former  scl',  went  back  into  the 
house. 

"  Frao  that  hour  she  never  breathed  his  name  to  ony  o'  us  ; 
but  wo  all  kon'd  that  it  was  hor  lo'o  for  him  that  wus  weariii'  «nit 
her  life.  The  grief  that  has  nao  voice,  like  tho  cankor-worin, 
lies  no'est  the  heart.  Puir  Joan,  sho  held  out  duriu'  the  sununor, 
l)ut  when  tho  fa'  cam',  sho  jest  withered  awa',  liko  a  llowor 
nipi)od  by  tho  early  frost;  an'  this  day  wo  laid  her  in  tli(t 
earth. 

"After  the  funeral  was  owre,  an'  tho  mourners  a' gano,  I 
stood  beside  her  grave,  thinking  owre  tho  days  o'  my  boyhood, 
when  she  an'  I  were  happy  weans,  an'  used  to  pu'  tho  gowans 
together,  on  the  hcatlicry  hills  o'  dear  auld  Scotland.  An'  I 
tried  in  vain  to  imdorstau'  tho  mystoriou.j  providence  o'  God  that 
had  stricken  her,  who  seemed  sao  guid  an'  pure,  an'  spared  tho 
liko  o'  mo,  who  was  mair  deservin'  o'  his  wrath,  when  I  heard 
a  dee])  groan,  an'  I  saw  Willie  Robertson  standin'  near  me,  be- 
side tho  grave. 

" '  You  may  as  wool  spare  your  grief  noo,'  said  I,  for  I  felt 
liard  towards  him,  '  an'  rejoice  that  tho  weary  is  at  rest.' 

" '  It  was  I  killed  her,'  said  lie ;  '  an'  the  thought  will  haunt 
mo  to  my  last  day.    Did  slie  remombor  me  on  lior  death-bed  V 

"  'Iler  thonghts  were  omy  ken'd  by  ITim,  Willie,  who  roads 
tho  secrets  of  a'  hearts.  Tier  end  was  peac«  ;  and  her  Saviour's 
blessed  name  war,  tho  last  sound  on  hor  lips.  If  ever  woman 
died'o'  a  broken  heart,  there  sho  lies.' 

'"Ah,  Jeanio!  ho  cried,  'my  ain  darlin' Jeanie !  my  blessed 
lammici    I  was  na  worthy  o'  ycr    luve.      My  heart,  too,  is 


t 


t* 


ii: 


LIFE    IK    TIIIw    CLEAIIINGH. 


211 


1  11  »c,' 
Jiunic, 

t'  who 
bully's 

1  after 
>ftlc  ftii' 
nti)  tho 

()'  iiH ; 
rin'  out 
'-■woriTi, 
umnuT, 
,  How  or 
•  in  tlio 

pane,  I 

An'  T 
ocl  that 
red  tho 
I  heart! 
me,  he- 

I  felt 

111  liaunt 
-bed?' 
Iio  reads 
Nwiour's 
•woniaii 

blessed 
1.  too,  13 


A 


hreiikin'.  To  hrhig  yo  hark  nnco  innir,  I  would  ^dndly  lay  mo 
(looii  an'  dee.' 

"An'  he  tlung  lilinHol'  upon  {ho  fresh  piled  Modti,  an'  grcotod 
liku  u  child. 

"  When  he  grow  inoro  calm,  wo  liad  u  long  con  vernation  about 
the  past;  au'  truly  I  think  that  the  man  was  na  iii  hln  right 
KcnscM,  when  ho  married  yon  wife.  At  ony  rate,  ho  is  nao  laiig 
for  this  World;  he  ha.s  fretted  tho  llesh  niX  his  baruM,  an'  iifon^ 
jnony  mouths  aro  owre,  his  held  wul  lie  us  low  as  puir  Jeanio 
I)nrn8." 

RY  NATIVE  LAND. 

*'  My  nativn  land,  my  native  land  ! 
IIow  many  tender  tics, 
Connfctod  with  thy  distant  strand, 
Call  forth  my  heavy  »ij;hs ! 

"  Thn  nigged  rock,  the  mountain  stream, 
The  hoary  pliie-treo'a  shade, 
Where  often  in  tho  noon-tido  beam, 
A  happy  child  I  played. 

*'  I  think  of  thee,  when  early  light 
Is  trembling  on  the  hill  ; 
I  think  of  thoo  at  di'od  of  night, 
When  all  i.s  dark  and  atill. 

"  I  think  of  thoso  wliom  I  shall  sco 
On  this  fair  earth  no  more ; 
And  wish  in  vain  for  wings  to  flco 
Bock  to  thy  much-lovod  shore." 


\' 


\i 


212 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


t  Si 

111 


'^-if!^: 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"Oh,  how  I  love  the  pleasant  woods,  when  silence  reigns  around. 
And  the  mighty  shadows  calmly  sleep,  like  giants  on  th«>  ground, 
And  the  flrc-fly  sports  her  fairy  lamp  beside  the  moonlit  stream, 
And  the  lofty  trees,  in  solemn  state,  frown  darkly  in  the  beam  I" 

S.  M. 

TnKRB  was  a  poor  wonan  on  board  the  steamer,  who  was  hke 
myself  in  search  of  health,  and  was  going  to  the  "West  to  see  her 
friends,  and  to  get  rid  of  (if  possible)  a  hollow,  consumptive 
cough.  She  looked  to  me  in  the  last  stage  of  pulmonary  con- 
sumption ;  but  she  seemed  to  hope  everything  from  the  change 
of  air. 

She  had  been  for  many  years  a  resident  in  the  woods,  and  had 
suffered  great  hardships;  but  the  greatest  sorrow  she  ever  knew, 
she  said,  and  what  had  pulled  her  down  the  most,  was  the  loss 
of  a  fine  boy,  who  had  strayed  away  after  her  through  the  bush, 
when  she  went  to  nurse  a  sick  neighbour ;  and  though  every 
search  had  been  made  for  the  child,  he  had  never  been  found. 
"  It  is  many  a  year  ago,"  she  said,  ^'  and  he  would  be  a  fine  yonnjr 
man  now,  if  ho  were  alive."  And  she  sighed  dee])ly,  and  still 
seemed  to  cling  to  the  idea  that  he  might  possibly  be  living,  with 
a  sort  of  forlorn  hope,  that  to  mo  seemed  more  melancholy  than 
the  certainty  of  his  death. 

This  brought  to  my  recollection  many  talcs  that  I  had  been 
told,  Avhile  living  in  the  bush,  of  persons  who  had  perished  in 
this  miserable  manner.  Some  of  these  tales  may  chance  to  inter- 
est my  readers. 

I  was  busy  sewing  one  day  for  my  little  giil,  when  we  lived  in 

the  towushii)  of  Hamilton,  when  Mrs.  II ,  a  woman  wlio.so 

husband  farmed  our  farm  on  shares,  came  running  in  quite  out 
of  breath,  and  cried  out — 

"  Mrs.  M ,  you  have  heard  the  good  news  ? — one  of  the 

lost  children  is  found  I" 

I  shook  my  head,  and  looked  inquiringly. 

"  What !  did  not  you  hoar  about  it  ?    Why,  one  of  Clark's  little 


1 


I 
I 


a 
o: 

tl 

Pi 
ca 
It 


81  THtt'MiTtfBfiii  ^iTitriiTi  [-"ii  V  -'-■ 


8.  M. 

as  like 
see  her 
mptivo 
ry  con- 
chaiigo 

(r  knew, 
the  loss 
le  hush, 
h  every 
a  t^miul. 
c  youn^ 
,nd  still 
ng,  V7ith 
|oly  than 

lad  hcen 
lislictl  in 
Ito  intcr- 

I  livctl  in 

In  whoso 

bnito  out 

lo  of  the 


Irk's  little 


I 


LIFE    IV    THE    CLE  A  KING  8. 


213 


1 


I 


fellows,  who  were  lost  last  Wednesday  in  the  woods,  lias  been 
found." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.    But  how  were  they  lost?" 

"  Oh,  'tis  a  thing  of  very  common  occurrence  here.  New 
settlers,  who  are  ignorant  of  the  danger  of  going  astray  in  the 
forest,  are  always  having  their  children  lost.  I  take  good  oaro 
never  to  let  my  boys  go  alone  to  the  bush.  But  people  are  so 
careless  in  this  respect,  that  I  wonder  it  does  not  more  frequently 
liappon. 

^ "  These  little  chaps  are  the  sons  of  a  poor  emigiant  who  came 
out  this  summer,  and  took  up  a  lot  of  wild  land  just  at  the  hack 
of  us,  towards  the  plains.  Clark  is  busy  logging  up  his  fallow- 
fur  fall  wheat,  on  which  his  family  must  depend  for  bread  during 
the  ensuing  year ;  and  he  is  so  anxious  to  get  it  ready  in  time, 
that  ho  will  not  allow  himself  an  hour  at  noon  to  go  homo  to  get 
his  dinner,  which  his  wife  generally  sends  in  a  basket  to  tho 
woods  by  his  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  of  fourteen. 

"  Last  Wednesday,  the  girl  had  been  sent  on  an  errand  by  her 
mother,  who  thought  that,  in  her  absence,  she  might  venture  to 
trust  the  two  boys  to  take  the  dinner  to  their  father.  The  boys, 
who  are  from  five  to  seven  yeafs  old,  and  very  smart  and  know- 
ing for  their  age,  promised  to  mind  all  her  directions,  and  went 
oft'  quite  proud  of  the  task,  carrying  tho  littlo  basket  between 
them. 

"  How  they  came  to  ramble  off  into  the  woods,  tho  younger 
child,  >vho  has  been  just  found,  is  too  much  stupefied  to  tell,  and 
perhaps  he  is  too  young  to  remember. 

"At  night  Clark  returned  from  liis  work,  and  scolded  liis  wife 
for  not  sending  his  dinner  as  usual ;  but  the  poor  woman  (who 
all  day  had  quieted  her  fears  with  the  belief  that  the  children 
had  stayed  with  their  father),  instead  of  paying  any  regard  to  his 
angry  words,  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  agony,  what  had  become 
of  her  children  ? 

"  Tired  and  hungry  as  Clark  was,  he  instantly  comprehended 
the  danger  to  which  his  boys  were  exposed,  and  started  off  in 
pursuit  of  them.  The  shrieks  of  the  distracted  woman  soon 
called  the  neighbours  together,  who  instantly  joined  in  the  search. 
It  was  not  until  this  afternoon  that  any  trace  could  bo  discovered 


;  'f^ 


tOB 


214 


LIFE   IN    TUE   CLEARINGS. 


1^.    ' 


.:i 


of  the  lost  children,  when  Brian,  the  hunter,  found  the  youngest 
boy,  Johnnie,  lying  fast  asleep  upon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
fifteen  miles  back  in  the  bush." 

"And  the  brother?" 

"  Will  never,  I  fear,  be  heard  of  again.  They  have  searched 
for  him  in  all  directions,  and  have  not  discovered  him.  The 
story  Httle  Johnnie  tells  is  to  this  effect.  During  the  first  two 
days  of  their  absence,  the  food  they  had  brought  in  the  basket 
for  their  father's  dinner  sustained  life ;  but  to-day,  it  seems  that 
little  Johnnie  grew  very  hungry,  and  cried  continually  for  bread. 
William,  the  eldest  boy,  promised  him  bread  if  ho  would  try  and 
walk  farther ;  but  his  feet  were  bleeding  and  sore,  and  he  could 
not  walk  another  step.  For  some  time  the  other  little  fellow 
carried  him  upon  his  back ;  but  growing  tired  himself,  he  bade 
Johnnie  sit  down  upon  a  fallen  log,  (the  log  on  which  he  was 
found),  and  not  stir  from  the  place  until  he  came  back.  lie  told 
the  child  that  he  would  run  on  until  he  found  a  house,  and  would 
return  as  soon  as  he  could,  and  bring  him  omething  to  eat.  lie 
then  wiped  his  eyes,  and  told  him  not  to  cry,  and  not  to  bo 
scared,  for  God  would  take  care  of  him  till  he  came  back,  and  he 
kissed  him  several  times,  and  ran  away. 

"  This  is  all  the  little  fellow  knows  about  his  brother ;  and  it 
is  very  probable  that  the  generous-hearted  b#y  has  been  eaten  by 
the  wolves  that  are  very  plenty  in  that  part  of  the  forest  where 
the  child  was  found.  The  Indians  traced  him  for  more  than  a 
mile  along  the  banks  of  the  creek,  when  they  lost  his  trail  alto- 
gether. If  he  had  fallen  into  the  water,  it  is  so  shallow,  that 
they  could  scarcely  have  failed  in  discovering  the  body  ;  but  they 
think  that  he  has  been  dragged  into  some  hole  in  the  bank  among 
the  tangled  cedars,  and  devoured. 

"  Since  I  have  been  in  the  comitry,"  continued  Mrs.  II , 

"  I  have  known  many  cases  of  children,  and  oven  of  grown  per- 
sons, being  lost  in  the  woods,  who  were  never  heard  of  again. 
It  is  a  frightful  calamity  to  happen  to  any  one ;  for  should  they 
escape  from  the  claws  of  wild  animals,  these  d^nso  forests  con- 
tain nothing  on  which  life  can  bo  supported  for  any  length  of 
time.  The  very  boughs  of  the  trees  are  placed  so  far  from  the 
ground,  that  no  child  could  reach  or  climb  to  them ;  and  there  is 


s 

1 

a 

s 
U 

s 
u 

St 

hi 
of 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEA.KINGS. 


215 


igest 
tree, 


rcUed 

Tlio 
t  two 
)asket 
i8  that 
bread, 
ry  and 
I  could 

fellow 
e  bade 
he  was 
llo  told 
1  would 
at.    IIo 
it  to  bo 
,  and  he 

and  it 
}ateu  by 

where 

than  a 
,il  alto- 
w,  that 

ut  they 
i  among 

H- , 

Iwn  per- 
])f  again. 

Id  they 
fcsts  con- 
Ingth  of 
Irom  the 

,  there  is 


$i 


so  little  brush  and  small  buslies  among  those  giant  trees,  that  no 
sort  of  fruit  can  be  obtained,  on  which  they  might  subsist  while 
it  remained  in  season.  It  is  only  in  clearings,  or  where  the  firo 
lias  run  through  the  forest,  that  strawberries  or  raspberries  are 
to  be  found ;  and  at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  in  the  winter,  a 
strong  man  could  not  exist  many  days  in  the  wilderness — let 
iUone  a  child. 

"  Parents  cannot  bo  too  careful  in  guarding  their  young  folks 
against  rambling  alone  in  the  bush.  Persons,  when  once  they 
got  olF  the  beaten  track,  got  frightened  and  bewildered,  and  lose 
all  presence  of  mind  ;  and  instead  of  remaining  wlioro  they  are 
when  they  first  discover  their  misfortune — wliich  is  the  only 
chance  they  have  of  being  found — they  plunge  desperately  on, 
running  hither  and  thither,  in  hope  of  getting  out,  while  tliey 
only  involve  themselves  more  deeply  among  the  mazes  of  tlio 
interminable  forest. 

"  Some  winters  ago,  the  daughter  of  a  settler  in  the  remote 
township  of  Dummer  (where  my  husband  took  up  his  grant  of 
wild  land,  and  in  which  we  lived  for  tw^o  years)  went  with  her 
father  to  the  mill,  which  was  four  miles  from  their  log-shanty, 
and  the  road  lay  entirely  through  the  bush.  For  awhile  the  girl, 
who  was  about  twelve  years  of  age,  kept  up  with  her  fatlier,  who 
walked  briakly  ahead  with  his  bag  of  corn  on  li  is  back ;  for  as 
their  path  lay  through  a  tangled  swamp,  lie  was  anxious  to  get 
home  before  night.  After  some  time,  Sarah  grew  tired  with 
stepping  up  and  down  over  the  fallen  logs  that  strewed  their 
path,  and  logged  a  long  way  behind.  The  man  fell,  not  the  least 
apprehensive  when  he  lost  sight  of  her,  expecting  that  she  would 
soon  come  up  with  him  again.  Onco  or  twice  lie  stopped  and 
shouted,* and  she  answered,  '  Coming,  father !'  and  he  did  not  turn 
to  look  after  her  again.  lie  readied  the  mill,  saw  the  grist 
ground,  resumed  his  burden,  and  took  the  road  ]iome,  expectmg 
to  meet  Sarah  by  the  way.  Ho  trode  the  long  pn.th  alone ;  but 
still  he  thought  that  the  girl,  tired  with  her  walk  in  the  woods, 
had  turned  back,  and  ho  should  find  her  safe  at  home. 

"  You  may  imagine,  Mrs.  M ,  liis  consternation,  and  that 

of  the  family,  when  they  found  that  the  girl  was  lost. 

"  It  was  now  dark,  and  all  search  for  her  was  given  up  for 


\i 


216 


LIFE    IN    THK    CLEAKING8. 


i     < 


tliat  night  as  hopeless.  By  day-break  the  next  morning  the 
whole  sottleniont,  which  was  then  confined  to  a  few  lonely  log 
tencnienis,  inhabited  solely  by  Cornish  miner?,  were  rousod  from 
their  sleep  to  assist  in  the  search. 

"The  men  turned  out  w  h  guns  and  horns,  and  divided  into 
[)artie9,  that  started  in  different  directions.  Those  who  first  dis- 
covered Sarah  were  to  fire  their  guns,  which  was  to  be  the  signal 
to  guide  the  rest  to  the  spot.  It  was  not  long  before  they  fonnd 
the  object  of  their  search,  seated  nnder  a  tree  about  half  a  mile 
from  the  path  she  had  lost  on  the  preceding  day. 

"  She  had  been  tempted  by  the  beauty  of  some  wild  flowers 
to  leave  the  road ;  and,  when  once  in  tlie  forest,  she  grew  bewil- 
dered, and  could  not  find  her  way  back.  At  first  she  ran  to  and 
fro,  in  an  agony  of  terror,  at  finding  herselt'  in  the  woods  all  alone, 
and  uttered  loud  and  frantic  cries;  but  her  father  had  by  this 
time  reached  the  mill,  and  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  With  a  sagacity  beyond  her  years,  and  not  very  common  to 
her  class,  instead  of  wandering  further  into  the  labyrinth  which 
surrounded  her,  she  sat  down  under  a  large  tree,  covered  her 
face  with  her  apron,  said  the  Lord's  i)rayer — the  only  one  she 
know,  and  lioped  that  God  would  send  her  father  back  to  find 
her  the  moment  he  discovered  that  she  was  lost. 

"  When  night  came  down  upon  the  dark  forest,  (and  oh !  how 
dark  night  is  in  the  woods !)  the  poor  girl  said  she  felt  horri- 
l)ly  afraid  of  being  eaten  by  the  wolves  that  abound  in  those 
dreary  swamps ;  but  she  did  not  cry,  for  fear  they  should  hear 
her.  Simple  girl!  she  did  not  know  that  the  scent  of  a  wolf  is 
tar  keener  than  his  ear :  but  this  was  her  notion,  and  she  lay 
down  close  to  the  ground  and  never  once  uncovered  hgr  head, 
for  fear  of  seeing  something  dreadful  standing  beside  her ;  until, 
overcome  by  terror  and  fatigue,  she  fell  fast  asleep,  and  did  not 
awake  till  roused  by  the  shrill  braying  of  the  horns,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  party  who  were  seeking  her." 

"  What  a  dreadful  situation!  I  am  sure  that  I  should  not  have 
had  the  courage  of  this  poor  girl,  but  should  have  died  with 
fear." 

"  We  don't  know  how  much  we  can  bear  till  we  are  tried.  This 
girl  was  more  fortunate  than  a  boy  of  the  same  age,  who  was 


i'»  \  ! 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEAKINGS. 


217 


r  the 
ylog 
from 

L  into 
^t  dirt- 
signiil 
found 
1  iiiilo 

lowers 
bcwil- 
to  and 
I  alone, 
by  this 

mon  to 
H  which 

cd  her 
one  she 

to  find 

how 
t  liorri- 
thoso 
lid  hear 
■wolf  is 
she  lay 
|r  head, 
• ;  until, 
did  not 
and  the 

lot  have 
led  with 

Id.    Thi3 
^ho  "waa 


lost  in  the  same  township  just  as  the  winter  set  in.  The  lad  was 
Bent  by  his  father,  an  English  settler,  in  company  with  two  boys 
of  his  own  ago,  the  sons  of  neighbours,  to  be  measured  for  a 
pair  of  shoes.  George  Desne,  who  followed  the  double  occupa- 
tion of  farmer  and  shoemaker,  lived  about  three  miles  from  the 
clearing  known  as  the  English  line.  After  the  lads  left  their 
homo,  the  road  lay  entirely  through  the  bush.  It  was  a  patli 
they  had  often  travelled,  both  alone  and  with  their  parents,  and 
tliey  felt  no  fear. 

"  There  had  been  a  slight  fall  of  snow,  just  enough  to  cover 
tlie  ground,  and  the  day  was  clear  and  frosty.  The  boys  in  this 
country  always  hail  with  delight  the  first  fall  of  snow ;  and  they 
ran  races  and  slid  over  all  the  shallow  pools,  until  they  reached 
George  Desno's  cabin.  He  measured  young  Brown  for  a  strong 
pair  of  winter  boots,  and  the  boys  returned  on  their  homeward 
path,  shouting  and  laughing  in  the  glee  of  their  hearts. 

About  half-way  they  suddenly  missed  their  companion,  and 
ran  back  nearly  a  mile  to  find  him ;  not  succeeding,  they  thought 
that  he  had  hidden  himself  behind  some  of  the  trees,  and,  in 
order  to  frighten  them^  was  pretending  to  be  lost ;  and  after 
shouting  his  name  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  receiving  no 
answer,  tliey  determined  to  defeat  his  trick,  and  ran  homo  with- 
out him.  They  knew  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  road, 
that  it  was  still  broad  day,  and  he  could  easily  find  his  way  homo 
alone.  When  his  father  inquired  for  Goorgo,  they  said  he  wa-s 
coming,  and  went  to  their  respective  cabins. 

"Night  came  on  and  the  lad  did  not  return,  and  his  parents  be- 
gan to  feel  alarmed  at  his  absence.  Mr.  Brown  went  over  to  tlio 
neighbouring  settlements,  and  made  the  lads  repeat  to  him  all 
they  knew  about  his  son.  The  boys  described  the  part  of  tlio 
road  where  they  first  missed  him ;  but  they  had  felt  no  uneasiness 
about  him,  for  they  had  concluded  that  he  had  either  run  home 
before  them,  or  had  gone  back  to  spend  the  night  wifli  the  young 
Desnes,  who  had  been  very  importunate  for  him  to  stay.  This 
account  pacified  the  anxious  father.  Early  the  next  morning  ho 
went  to  Desne's  himself  to  bring  home  the  boy,  but,  to  his 
astonishment  and  grief,  ho  had  not  been  there. 

"  His  mysterious  disappearance  gave  rise  to  a  thousand  strango 

10 


4 


218 


LIFE    IN    TH£   CLBARINOS. 


♦  ;r' 


I B: 


surmises.  Tho  whole  settlement  tamed  out  in  Boarch  of  the  boy. 
His  steps  were  traced  off  the  road  a  few  yards  into  the  bush,  and 
entirely  disappeared  at  the  foot  of  a  large  oak  tree.  The  tree 
was  lofty,  and  the  branches  so  far  from  the  ground,  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  for  any  boy,  unassisted,  to  have  raised  himself 
to  such  a  height.  There  was  no  track  of  any  animal  to  be  seen 
on  tho  new  fallen  snow — ^no  shred  of  garment  or  stain  of  blood. 
That  boy's  fate  will  always  remain  a  great  mystery,  for  ho  was 
never  fbund." 

"  He  must  have  been  carried  up  the  tree  by  a  bear,  and  drag- 
ged down  into  the  hollow  trunk,"  said  I. 

"  If  that  had  been  the  case,  there  would  have  been  tho  track 
of  the  bear's  feet  in  the  snow.  It  does  not,  however,  follow 
that  the  boy  is  dead,  though  it  is  more  than  probable.  I  knew 
of  a  case  where  two  boys  and  a  girl  were  sent  into  the  woods  by 
their  mother  to  fetch  home  the  cows.  The  children  were  lost. 
The  parents  mourned  them  for  der.d,  for  all  search  after  them 
proved  fruitless.  At  length,  after  seven  years,  tne  eldest  son 
returned.  Tho  children  had  been  overtaken  and  carried  off  by 
a  party  of  Indians,  who  belonged  to  a  tribe  who  inhabited  tho 
islands  in  Lake  Huron,  and  who  were  out  on  a  hunting  expedi- 
tion. They  took  them  many  hundred  miles  away  from  their 
forest  home,  and  adopted  them  as  their  own.  The  girl,  when 
she  grew  up,  married  one  of  the  tribe ;  tho  boys  followed  the 
occupation  of  hunters  and  fishers,  and,  from  their  dress  and 
appearance,  might  have  passed  for  aborigines  of  the  forest. 
The  eldest  boy,  however,  never  forgot  his  own  name,  or 
the  manner  in  which  ho  had  been  separated  from  his  parents. 
He  distinctly  remembered  the  township  and  the  natural 
features  of  the  locality,  and  took  the  first  opportunity  of 
making  his  escape,  and  travelling  back  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood. 

""When  ho  made  himself  known  to  his  mother,  who  was  a 
widow,  but  resided  on  tho  same  spot,  ho  was  so  dark  and  Indian- 
like that  she  could  not  believe  that  ifr  was  really  her  son,  until  he 
brought  back  to  her  mind  a  little  incident  that,  forgotten  by  her, 
had  never  left  his  memory. 
"  '-Mother,  don't  you  remember  saying  to  me  on  that  after- 


Ti 


A 


UFE   IN  THE   CLEARINGS. 


210 


noon,  Ned,  you  need  not  look  for  tlie  cows  in  the  swamp—thoy 
wont  off  towards  the  big  hill  1' 

"  The  delighted  mother  iinmediatoly  canght  him  to  her  heart, 
oxclairaing,  'You  say  truly— you  arc  my  own,  my  long-lost 
son !'  "* 

1 
THE  CANADIAN  EERD  BOY. 

"  Through  the  deep  woods,  at  peep  of  day, 
The  carclesii  herd-boy  wenda  hia  way, 
By  pmy  ridge  and  forest  stream, 
To  summon  homo  his  roving  team— 
Cobos !  coboa !  from  distant  doll 
Shy  echo  wafts  the  cattle-bell. 


I'J 


"  A  blithe  reply  he  whistles  back, 
And  follows  out  the  devious  track, 
O'er  fallen  tree  and  mossy  stone— 
A  path  to  all,  save  him,  unknown. 
Cobos  !  cobos  !  far  down  the  dell 
More  faintly  falls  the  cattle-bell. 


le,  or 


was  a 
[ndian- 
intil  he 

yy  her, 

after- 


"  See  the  dark  swamp  before  him  throws 
A  tangled  maze  of  cedar  boughs  ; 
On  all  around  deep  silenco  broods, 
In  nature's  boundless  solitudes. 
Cobos  !  coboa  !  the  breezes  swell, 
As  nearer  floats  the  cattle-bell. 

"  He  sees  them  now — ^beneath  yon  trees 
His  motley  herd  recline  at  ease  j 
With  lazy  pace  and  sullen  stare, 
They  slowly  leave  their  shady  lair. 
Cobos  !  cobos  ! — far  up  the  dell 
Quick  jingling  comes  the  cattle-bell ! 

*  This,  and  the  two  preceding  chapters,  were  written  for  "Roughing 
it  m  the  Bush,"  and  were  sent  to  England  to  make  a  part  of  that  work, 
but  camo  too  late  for  msortion,  which  will  account  to  the  reader  for 
theu  appearance  here. 


220 


UrS   IN   THE   OLEARINQS. 


1 . :. 


!1, 


M' 


W 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Fiction,  however  wild  and  fanciful, 
Is  but  the  copy  memory  draws  from  truth. 
'Tis  not  in  human  genius  to  create : 
The  mind  is  but  a  mirror  that  reflects 
Realities  that  are,  or  the  dim  shadows 
Left  by  the  past  upon  Its  placid  surface, 
Recalled  again  to  life." 

The  glow  of  early  day  was  brightening  in  the  east,  as  the 
steamer  approached  Toronto.  "VVo  rounded  the  point  of  the 
interminable,  flat,  swampy  island,  tliat  stretches  for  several  mile^ 
la  front  of  the  city,  and  which  is  thinly  covered  with  scrubby- 
looking  trees.  The  land  lies  so  level  with  the  water,  that  it  has 
the  appearance  of  being  half-submerged,  and  from  a  distance  you 
only  see  the  tops  of  the  trees.  I  have  been  informed  that  the 
name  of  Toronto  has  been  derived  from  this  circumstance,  which 
in  Indian  literally  means,  "  Trees  in  the  water." 

If  the  island  rather  takes  from,  than  adds  to,  the  beauty  of 
the  place,  it  is  not  without  groat  practical  advanta  'esj  as  to  it 
the  city  is  mainly  indebted  for  its  sheltered  and  very  commodious 
harbour. 

After  entering  the  harbour,  Toronto  presents  a  long  line  of 
frontage,  covered  with  handsome  buildings  to  the  eye.  A  grey 
mist  still  hovered  over  its  many  domes  and  spires ;  but  the  new 
University  and  the  Lunatic  Asylum  stood  out  in  bold  relief,  as 
they  caught  the  broad  red  gleam  of  the  coming  day. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  the  metropolitan  city  of  the  upper  pro- 
vince, and  with  no  small  degree  of  interest  I  examined  its  gen- 
oral  aspect  as  we  approached  the  wharf.  It  does  not  present 
such  an  imposing  appearance  from  the  water  as  Kingston,  but  it 
strikes  you  instantly  as  a  place  of  far  greater  magnitude  and 
importance.  There  is  a  f'esh,  growing,  healthy  vitality  about 
this  place,  that  cannot  fai'  cO  impress  a  stranger  very  forcibly  the- 
first  time  he  enters  it.  He  feels  instinctively  that  he  sees  before 
him  the  strong  throbbing  heart  of  this  gigantic  young  country, 
and  that  every  powerful  vibration  from  this  ever  increasing  cen- 


- 


LIFK    IN    THE    CLEAlirNOS. 


221 


•)( 


tro  of  woftllh  and  civilisation,  infuses  life  and  vigour  tlirongh  tlio 
whole  length  and  breadth  of  the  '>rovinco. 

Toronto  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  expectations  that  I  had 
formed  of  it  at  a  distance,  and  enabled  me  to  realize  distinctly 
the  rising  greatness  and  rapid  improvement  of  the  colony.  It  is 
only  here  that  you  can  form  any  just  estimate  of  what  she  now 
is,  and  what  at  no  very  distant  period  she  must  bo. 

The  country,  for  some  miles  round  the  city,  appears  to  the  eye 
as  flat  as  a  floor ;  th«  rise,  though  very  gradual,  is,  I  am  told,  con- 
siderable ;  and  the  land  is  sufficiently  elevated  above  the  lake  to 
escape  the  disagreeable  character  of  being  low  and  swampy. 
Anything  in  the  shape  of  a  slope  or  hill  is  not  distinguishable  in 
the  present  area  on  which  Toronto  is  built ;  but  the  streets  are 
wide  and  clean,  and  contain  many  handsome  public  buildings; 
and  the  beautiful  trees  which  everywhere  abound  in  the  neat, 
well-kept  gardens,  that  surround  the  dwellings  of  tlie  wealthier 
inhabitants,  with  the  broad,  bright,  blue  inland  sea  that  forms 
the  foreground  to  the  picture,  give  to  it  such  a  lively  and  agree- 
able character,  that  it  takes  from  it  all  appearance  of  tamouess 
and  monotony. 

The  wharves,  with  which  our  first  practical  acquaintance  with 
the  city  commenced,  are  very  narrow  and  incommodious.  They 
are  built  on  piles  of  wood,  running  out  to  some  distance  in  the 
water,  and  covered  with  rotten,  black-looking  boards.  As  far  as 
comfort  and  convenience  go,  they  are  far  inferior  to  those  of 
Oobourg  and  Kingston,  or  even  to  those  of  our  own  dear  little 
"  City  of  the  Bay^''''  as  Belleville  has  not  inaptly  been  christened 
by  the  strange  madcap,  calling  himself  the  "  Great  Orator  of  the 
Westr 

It  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  that  a  few  years  will  sweep  all  these 
decayed  old  wharfs  into  the  Ontario,  and  that  more  substantial 
ones,  built  of  stone,  will  be  erected  in  their  place.  Rome,  how- 
ever, was  not  built  in  a  day  ;  and  the  magic  growth  of  this  city 
of  the  West  is  almost  as  miraculous  as  that  of  Jonah's  celebrated 
gourd. 

The  steamboat  had  scarcely  been  secured  to  her  wharf  before 
wo  were  surrounded  by  a  host  of  cabmen,  who  rushed  on  board, 


222 


LTFB    IN   THK    CLEARINGS. 


i  fc 


i\\ 


fighting  and  squabbling  witli  each  other,  in  order  to  pconre  tho 
lifHt  chnnoo  of  pftHsengers  and  their  luggage.  Tho  luibbub  in 
front  of  tlio  ladies'  cal>iD  grew  to  a  perfect  uproar ;  and,  as  most 
of  the  gentlemen  were  still  in  tho  arms  of  Morpheuj?,  these  noisy 
MercuriotJ  had  it  all  their  own  way — swearing  and  shouting  at  tho 
top  of  their  voices,  in  a  manner  that  rivalled  civilized  Europe.  I 
was  perfectly  astonished  at  their  volubility,  and  tho  pertinacity 
of  their  attentions,  which  were  poured  forth  in  tho  true  Milesian 
fashion — an  odd  mixture  of  blarney,  self-interest,  and  audacity. 
At  Kingston  these  gentry  are  far  more  civil  and  loss  importunate, 
and  WG  witnessed  none  of  this  disgraceful  annoyance  at  any  other 
port  on  the  lake.  One  of  these  Paddies,  in  his  hurry  to  secure 
tho  persons  and  luggage  of  several  ladies,  who  Imd  been  my 
fellow-passengers  in  the  cabin,  nearly  backed  his  crazy  old  vehicle 
over  tho  unguarded  wooden  wharf  into  the  lake. 

Wo  got  safely  stowed  at  last  into  one  of  these  machines,  which, 
internally,  are  not  destitute  of  either  comfort  or  convenience ; 
and  driving  through  some  of  the  principle  avenues  of  tho  city, 
were  safely  deposited  at  the  door  of  a  dear  friend,  who  had  come 
on  board  to  conduct  us  to  his  hospitable  home ;  and  here  I  found 
tho  rest  and  quiet  so  much  needed  by  an  invalid  after  a  long  and 
fatiguing  journey. 

It  was  some  days  before  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  visit 
any  of  the  lions  of  the  place.  With  a  minute  description  of  theso 
I  shall  not  trouble  my  readers.  My  book  is  written  more  with  a 
view  to  convey  general  impressions,  than  to  delineate  separate 
features, — to  while  away  the  languid  heat  of  a  summer  day,  or 
the  dreary  dulness  of  a  wet  one.  The  intending  emigrant,  who 
is  anxious  for  commercial  calculations  and  statistical  details,  will 
find  all  that  he  can  require  on  this  head  in  "  Scobie's  Almanac," 
and  Smith's  "Past,  Present,  and  Future  of  Canada," — works 
written  expressly  for  that  purpose. 

Women  make  good  use  of  their  eyes  and  ears,  und  paint  scenes 
that  amuse  or  strike  their  fancy  with  tolerable  accuracy ;  but  it 
requires  the  strong-thinking  heart  of  man  to  anticipate  events, 
and  trace  certain  results  from  particular  causes.  Women  are  out 
of  their  element  when  they  attempt  to  speculate  upon  these 


»/ 


ass 


» 


LIFE    IK    TIIK   CLGARIN08. 


223 


r^ 


ftbstruae  mutters — arc  npt  to  Incline  too  strongly  to  thoir  own 
o[)inions — find  jump  nt  conclusionH  ■wliicli  uro  oither  fulso  or 
unsfttisfaotory. 

My  firwt  visit  wna  to  King-stroot,  which  may  be  considered  as 
the  liogent-stroot  of  Toronto.  It  in  tlio  great  central  avouuo  cf 
commerce,  aiid  contains  many  fine  buildings,  and  handsome 
capaciouri  stores,  while  a  number  of  new  ouoa  are  in  a  state  of 
progress.  This,  fine,  broad,  airy  thoroughfaro,  would  bo  an  orna- 
ment to  any  town  or  city,  and  the  bustle  and  traffic  through  it 
give  to  strangers  a  tolerably  just  idea  of  the  wealth  and  industry 
of  the  community.  All  the  streets  terminate  at  the  water's  edge, 
but  Front-street,  which  runs  parallel  with  it,  and  may  be  termed 
the  "  west  end  "  of  Toronto  ;  for  most  of  the  wealthy  rcsidcnta 
have  handsome  houses  and  gardens  in  this  street,  which  is  open 
through  the  whole  length  of  it  to  tiie  lake.  The  railroad  is 
upon  the  edge  of  the  water  along  this  natural  terrace.  Tlio 
situation  is  uncommonly  lively,  as  it  commands  a  fine  view  of  the 
harbour,  and  vessels  and  stoamboata  are  passing  to  and  fro  con- 
tinually. 

The  St.  Lawrence  market,  which  is  near  the  bottom  of  King- 
street,  is  a  handsome,  commodious  building,  and  capitally  sup- 
plied with  all  tlie  creature-comforts — lisli,  fiosh,  and  fowl — besides 
abundance  of  excellent  fruits  and  vegetables,  which  can  bo  pro- 
cured at  very  reasonable  prices.  The  town-liall  is  over  the 
market-place,  and  I  am  told — ^for  I  did  not  visit  it — that  it  is  a 
noble  room,  capable  of  accommodating  a  large  number  of  peoplo 
with  ease  and  comfort. 

Toronto  is  very  rich  in  handsome  churches,  wliich  form  one 
of  its  chief  attractions.  I  was  greatly  struck  with  the  elegant 
spire  of  Kox's  church,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  graceful  in  tlio 
city.  The  body  of  the  church,  however,  seems  rather  too  short, 
and  out  of  proportion,  for  the  tall  slender  tower,  which  would 
have  appeared  to  much  greater  advantage  attached  to  a  building 
double  the  length. 

Nothing  attracted  my  attention,  or  interested  mo  more,  than 
the  handsome,  well-supplied  book  stores.  Those  of  Armour, 
8cobie,  and  Maclean,  are  equal  to  many  in  London  in  appearance, 


224 


MFK    IN    TIIK    CLRARINOR. 


'!  n 


■r\ ' 


HI 


and  fjir  superior  to  tlioso  timt  were  to  bo  found  In  Norwich  nnd 
IpHwich  thirty  yourrt  ap^o. 

This  speaks  well  for  tho  mental  improvomont  of  Oanndn,  nnd 
is  a  proof  that  people  have  more  leisure  for  Qcqniring  book  lore, 
and  more  money  for  tlie  purchase  of  books,  than  they  had  somo 
years  ago.  The  piracies  of  tho  Americans  have  realized  the  old 
l)roverb,  "That  'tis  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good." 
Incalculable  are  tho  benefits  that  Canada  derives  from  her  cheap 
reprints  of  all  tho  European  standard  works,  which,  on  good 
paper  and  in  handsome  bindings,  crvn  be  bought  at  a  quarter  tho 
price  of  tho  English  editions.  This  circumstance  must  always 
make  tho  Oanadas  a  bad  market  for  English  publications.  Most 
of  these,  it  is  truci,  can  be  procured  by  wealthy  individuals  at  tlio 
book  stores  mentioned  above,  but  tho  American  reprints  of  tho 
same  works  abound  a  hundred-fold. 

Novels  form  tho  most  attractive  species  of  reading  hero  for  tho 
young ;  and  tho  best  of  these,  in  pamphlet  form,  may  bo  procured 
from  twenty -five  to  fifty  cents.  And  here  I  must  claim  the  i)ri- 
vilcgo  of  speaking  a  few  words  in  defence  of  both  novel  readers 
and  novel  writers,  in  spite  of  the  horror  which  I  fancy  I  see  de- 
picted on  many  a  grave  countenance. 

There  are  many  good  and  conscientious  persons  who  regard 
novels  and  novel  writeiH  with  devout  horror, — who  condemn 
their  works,  however  moral  in  their  tendency,  as  unfit  for  tho 
perusal  of  responsible  and  intelligent  creatures, — who  will  not 
admit  into  their  libraries  any  books  but  such  as  treat  of  religions, 
historical,  or  scientific  subjects,  in  •''7'ning,  and  we  think  very 
erroneously,  that  all  works  of  fiction  liave  a  demoralizing  effect, 
and  tend  to  weaken  the  judgment,  and  enervate  tho  mind. 

"Wo  will,  however,  allow  that  there  is  both  truth  and  sound 
f  enso  in  somo  of  these  objections ;  that  if  a  young  person's  read- 
ing is  entirely  confined  to  this  class  of  literature,  and  that  of  an 
inferior  sort,  a  great  deal  of  harm  may  bo  the  result,  as  many  of 
these  works  are  apt  to  convey  to  them  false  and  exaggerated  pic- 
tures of  life.  Such  a  course  of  reading  would  produce  the  same 
effect  upon  tho  mind  as  a  constant  diet  of  sweetmeats  would 
upon  the  stomach  ;  it  would  destroy  the  digestion,  and  induce  a 
loathing  for  more  wholesome  food. 


T 


* 


K 


fy 


> 


Lin    IN   THE   nLBARINOS. 


225 


Btill,  tho  mind  requires  recreation  ah  well  ns  the  body,  nnd 
cannot  always  be  enf?ngod  upon  soriouH  studios  witliont  injury  to 
tho  l)rain,  and  tlie  disarrunKoniotit  of  some  of  tho  most  important 
organs  of  the  body.  Now,  wo  think  it  c»)ul(l  bo  satisfactorily 
proved,  in  spite  of  tho  storn  crusado  perpetually  waged  against 
works  of  fiction  by  a  largo  portion  of  well-moaning  people,  that 
much  good  has  boon  done  in  the  world  through  thuir  instruiuent- 
ality. 

Most  novels  and  romances,  particularly  those  of  tho  modern 
school,  are  founded  upon  real  incident^,  nnd,  like  tho  best  heads 
in  tho  artist's  picture,  tho  characters  are  drawn  from  life ;  and 
tho  closer  tho  drawing  or  story  approximates  to  nature,  tho  inoro 
interesting  and  popular  will  it  become.  Though  a  vast  number 
of  those  works  are  daily  pouring  from  tho  British  and  American 
press,  it  is  only  those  of  a  very  liigh  class  that  are  generally  read 
and  become  as  familiar  as  household  words.  Tho  tastes  of  indi- 
viduals differ  widely  on  articles  of  dress,  food,  and  amusomout ; 
but  there  is  a  wonderful  aftinity  in  tho  minds  of  men,  as  regards 
works  of  literature.  A  book  that  appeals  strongly  to  the  pas- 
sions, if  true  to  nature,  will  strike  nearly  all  alike,  and  obtain  a 
world-wide  popularity,  Avhile  tho  more  fiction  Binka  back  into 
obscurity — is  once  read  and  forgotten. 

Tho  works  of  Smollett  and  Fielding  were  admirable  pictures 
of  society  as  it  existed  in  their  day ;  but  we  live  in  a  more  refined 
age,  and  few  young  people  would  feel  any  pleasure  in  tho  coarse 
pictures  exhibited  in  those  once  celebrated  works.  The  novels 
of  Richardson,  recommended  by  grave  divines  from  the  pulpit  as 
perfect  models  of  purity  and  virtue,  would  now  bo  cast  aside 
with  indifference  and  disgust.  They  were  considered  quite  tho 
reverse  in  the  age  he  wrote,  and  ho  was  regarded  as  one  of  the 
great  reformers  of  the  vices  of  his  time.  We  may  therefore 
conclude,  that,  although  repugnant  to  our  taste  and  feelings,  they 
were  tho  means  of  effecting  much  good  in  a  gross  and  licentious 
age. 

In  tho  writings  of  our  great  modern  novelists,  virtue  is  never 
debased,  nor  vice  exalted ;  but  there  is  a  constant  endeavour  to 
impress  upon  the  mmd  of  the  reader  tlio  true  wisdom  of  the  one 
and  tho  folly  of  tho  other ;  and  where  tho  author  fails  to  create 

10* 


^ 


226 


UFB   IN   THE   OLEARINOS. 


1, 


an  interest  in  the  fate  of  his  hero  oi  heroine,  it  is  not  because 
thoy  are  bad  or  immoral  characters,  like  Lovelace  in  Clarissa 

Harlowe,  and  Lord  B in  Pamela,  but  that  like  Sir  Charles 

Grandison,  they  are  too  good  for  reality,  and  their  very  faultless- 
ness  renders  them,  like  the  said  Sir  Charles,  affected  and  unna- 
tural. Where  high  moral  excellence  is  represented  aa  struggling 
-with  the  faults  and  follies  common  to  humanity,  sometimes  yield- 
ing to  temptation,  and  reaping  the  bittey  fruits,  and  at  other 
times  successfully  resisting  the  allurements  of  vice,  all  our  sym- 
pathies are  engaged  in  the  contest ;  it  becomes  our  own,  and  wo 
follow  the  hero  through  all  his  trials,  weep  over  his  fall,  or 
triumph  in  his  success. 

Children,  who  possess  an  unsophisticated  judgment  in  these 
matters,  seldom  feel  much  interest  in  the  model  boy  of  a  moral 
story ;  not  from  any  innate  depravity  of  mind,  which  leads  them 
to  prefer  vice  to  virtue,  for  no  such  preference  can  exist  in  the 
human  breast, — no,  not  even  in  the  perverted  hearts  of  the  worst 
of  men — but  because  the  model  boy  is  like  no  other  boy  of  their 
acquaintance.  He  does  not  resemble  them,  for  he  is  a  piece  of 
unnatural  perfection.  lie  neither  fights,  nor  cries,  nor  wishes  tc 
play  when  he  ought  to  be  busy  with  his  lessons ;  he  lecturos  like 
a  parson,  and  talks  like  a  book.  His  face  is  never  dirty ;  he  never 
tears  his  clothes,  nor  soils  his  hands  with  making  dirt  pies,  or 
puddling  in  the  mud.  His  hair  is  always  smooth,  Jiis  face  always 
wears  a  smile,  and  he  was  never  known  to  sulk,  or  say  /  wonH  ! 
The  boy  is  a  perfect  stranger — they  can't  recognize  his  likeness, 
or  follow  his  example — and  why  ?  because  both  are  unnatural 
caricatures. 

Bat  be  sure,  that  if  the  naughty  boy  of  the  said  tale  creates 
the  most  interest  for  his  fate  in  the  mind  of  the  youthful  reader, 
it  is  simply  because  he  is  drawn  with  more  truthfulness  than  tho 
character  that  was  intended  for  his  counterpart.  The  langviago 
of  passion  is  always  eloquent,  and  tho  bad  boy  is  delineated  true 
to  his  bad  nature,  and  is  made  to  speak  and  act  naturally,  which 
never  fails  to  awaken  a  touch  of  sympathy  in  brings  equally 
prone  to  err.  I  again  repeat  that  few  minds  (if  any)  exist  that 
can  find  beauty  in  deformity,  or  aught  to  ad  aire  in  the  hideoua- 
nese  of  vice. 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


227 


ngviago 
3d  true 
whicli 
qually 
t  that 
,deous- 


t 


There  are  many  persons  in  the  world  who  cannot  boar  to 
receive  instruction  when  conveyed  to  them  in  a  serious  form, 
who  shrink  with  loathing  from  the  "Ant  Vfith  which  too  many 
religious  novels  are  loaded ;  and  who  yet  might  be  induced  to 
listen  to  precepts  of  religion  and  morality,  when  <irrayed  in  a 
more  amusing  and  attractive  garb,  and  enforced  by  characters 
who  speak  and  feel  like  themselves,  and  share  in  all  things  a 
common  humanity. 

Some  of  our  admirable  modem  works  of  fiction,  or  rather 
truths  disguised,  in  order  to  make  them  more  palatable  to  the 
generality  of  loaders,  have  done  more  to  ameliorate  the  sorrows 
of  mankind,  by  drawing  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  wants 
and  woes  of  the  lower  classes,  than  all  the  charity  sermons  that 
have  been  delivered  from  the  pulpit. 

Yes,  the  despised  and  reprobated  novelist,  by  daring  to  unveil 
the  crimes  and  miseries  of  neglected  and  ignorant  meh,  and  to 
point  out  the  abuses  which  have  produced,  and  are  still  producing, 
the  same  dreadful  results,  are  missionaries  in  tne  cause  of  humanity, 
the  real  friends  and  benefactors  of  mankind. 

The  selfish  worldling  may  denounce  as  infamous  and  'mmoral, 
the  heart-rending  pictures  of  human  suffering  and  degradation 
that  the  writings  of  Dickens  and  Sue  have  presented  to  their 
gaze,  and  declare  that  they  are  unfit  to  meet  thu  eyes  of  the  vir- 
tuous and  refined — that  no  good  can  arise  from  the  publication 
of  such  revolting  details — and  that  to  be  ignorant  of  the  exis- 
tence of  such  horrors  is  in  itself  a  species  of  virtue. 

Daughter  of  wealth,  daintily  nurtured,  and  nicely  educated, 
la  hliiulneas  nature?  Does  your  superiority  over  these  fallen 
creatures  spring  from  any  innate  principle  in  your  own  breast, 
which  renders  you  more  worthy  of  the  admiration  and  esteem 
of  your  fellow-creatures  ?  Are  not  you  indebted  to  the  circum- 
stances in  which  you  are  placed,  and  to  that  moral  education,  for 
every  virtue  tliat  you  possess? 

You  can  feel  no  pity  for  the  murd'^"cr,  tlie  thief,  the  prostitute. 
Such  people  may  aptly  be  termed  the  wild  beasts  of  society,  and, 
like  wild  beasts,  should  bo  hunted  down  and  killed,  in  order  to 
secure  the  peace  and  comfort  of  the  rest.  TT^ell,  the  law  baa  been 
d'  sing  this  for  many  ages,  and  yet  the  wild  boasts  still  exist  an 


228 


LIFK    IN   TUB    CLEARINGS. 


:   A: 


1.^ 


il^= 


a; 


\$ 


•iii 


prey  npon  their  neighbours.  And  such  will  still  continue  to  bo 
the  case  until  Christianity,  following  the  example  of  her  blessed 
Founder,  goes  forth  into  the  wilderness  of  life  on  her  errand  of 
mercy,  not  to  condemn,  but  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  ia 
lost. 

The  conventional  rules  of  society  have  formed  a  hedge  about 
you,  which  renders  any  flagrant  breach  of  morality  very  diflScult, 
— in  some  cases  almost  impossible.  From  infancy  the  dread 
commandments  have  been  sounding  in  your  ears, — "  Thou  shalt 
not  kill !  Thou  shalt  not  steal !  Thou  shalt  not  commit  adul- 
tery!"— and  the  awful  mandate  has  been  strengthened  by  the 
admonitions  of  pious  parents  and  good  ministers,  all  anxious  for 
your  eternal  welfare.  You  may  well  be  honest;  for  all  your 
wants  have  been  supplied,  and  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  where 
no  temptation  exists,  virtue  itself  becomes  a  negative  quality. 
You  do  not  covet  the  goods  which  others  possess.  You  have 
never  looked  down,  with  confusion  of  face  and  heartfelt  bitter- 
ness, on  the  dirty  rags  that  scarcely  suffice  to  conceal  the  emacia- 
tion of  your  wasted  limbs.  You  have  never  felt  hunger  gnawing 
at  your  vitals,  or  shuddered  at  the  cries  of  famishing  children, 
sobbing  around  your  knees  for  bread.  You  have  dainties  to 
satiety  every  day,  and  know  nothing  of  the  agonies  of  sacrificing 
your  virtue  for  the  sake  of  a  meal.  If  you  are  cold,  you  have  a 
good  fire  to  warm  you,  a  comfortable  mansion  to  protect  you 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  and  garments  suitable  to 
every  season  of  tlie  year.  How  can  you  be  expected  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  ragged,  houseless  children  of  want  and  infamy ! 

You  cannot  bear  to  have  these  sad  realities  presented  to  your 
notice.  It  shocks  your  nerves.  You  cannot  bring  yourself  to 
admit  that  these  outcasts  of  society  are  composed  of  the  same 
clay ;  and  you  blame  the  authors  who  have  dared  to  run  a  tilt 
against  your  ;^,i-ejudices,  and.  have  not  only  attested  the  unwel- 
come fact,  but  have  pointed  out  the  causes  which  lead  to  the 
hopeless  degradation  and  depravity  of  these  miserable  fellow- 
creatures.  You  cannot  read  the  works  of  these  humane  men, 
because  they  bid  you  to  step  with  them  into  these  dirty  abodes 
of  guilt  and  wretchedness,  and  see  what  crime  really  is,  and  all 
the  horrors  that  ignorance  and  poverty,  and  a  want  of  self-respect, 


'<> 


9 


t 


v^ 


LIFE    IN   TIIK    CLEARIKOS. 


229 


V^ 


never  fail  to  bring  abont.  You  cannot  enter  into  these  abodes 
of  your  neglected  and  starving  brothers  and  sisters — these  for- 
lorn scions  of  a  common  stock — and  view  their  cold  hearths  and 
unfurnished  tables,  their  beds  of  straw  and  tattered  garments, 
without  iefilement — or  witness  their  days  of  unremitting  toil, 
and  nighis  of  unrest ;  and  worse,  far  worse,  to  behold  the  evil 
passions  and  crimes  which  spring  from  a  state  of  ignorance,  pro- 
ducing a  moral  darkness  that  can  be  felt. 

You  are  insulted  and  offended  at  being  seen  in  such  bad  com- 
pany ;  and  cannot  for  a  moment  imagine  that  a  change  in  your 
relative  positions  might  have  rendered  yon  no  wiser  or  better 
than  them.  But,  let  me  ask  you  candidly,  has  not  tlie  terrible 
scone  produced  some  effect  ?  Can  you  forget  its  existence, — its 
shocking  reality  ?  The  lesson  it  teaches  may  be  distasteful,  but 
you  cannot  shake  off  a  knowledge  of  its  melancholy  facts.  The 
voice  of  conscience  speaks  audibly  to  your  heart; — that  still 
small  voice — that  awful  record  of  himself  that  God  has  placed  in 
every  breast  (and  woe  be  to  you,  or  any  one,  when  it  ceases  to 
be  heard !) — tells  you  that  you  cannot,  without  violating  the 
divine  mandate,  "  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,''^  leave  these 
miserable  creatures  to  languish  and  die,  without  making  one 
effort  to  aid  in  rescuing  them  from  their  melancholy  fate. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?"  I  hear  you  indignantly  exclaim. 

Much;  oh,  how  much!  You  have  wealth,  a  small  part 
of  which  cannot  bo  better  bestowed  than  in  educating  thebe  poor 
ci'eatures ;  in  teaching  them  to  recognize  those  divine  laws  which 
they  have  broken ;  in  leading  them  step  by  step  into  those  paths 
of  piety  and  peace  they  have  never  known.  Igi.orance  has  been 
the  most  powerful  agent  in  corrupting  these  perishing  criminals. 
Give  them  healthful  employment,  the  means  of  emigrating  to 
countries  where  labour  is  amply  remunerated,  and  will  secure  for 
them  comfort,  independence,  and  self-respect.  In  Canada,  these 
victims  of  over-population  prove  beneficial  members  of  oociety, 
while  with  you  they  are  regarded  as  a  blight  and  a  curse. 

Numbers  of  this  class  are  yearly  cast  upon  these  shores,  jet 
the  crimes  which  are  commonly  committed  by  their  instrument- 
ality in  Britain,  very  rarely  occur  with  us,    We  could  not  sleep 


'  '!' 


230 


LIF£    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


^  It'; 


with  unfastened  doors  and  windows  near  populous  towns,  if  tho 
change  in  their  condition  did  not  bring  about  a  greater  moral 
change  in  the  character  of  these  poor  emigrants. 

They  readily  gain  employment ;  their  toils  are  amply  remune- 
rated ;  and  tliey  cease  to  commit  crime  to  procure  a  precarious 
existence.  In  tho  very  worst  of  these  people  some  good  exists. 
A  few  seeds  remain  of  divine  planting,  which,  if  fostered  and 
judiciously  trained,  might  yet  bear  fruit  for  heaven. 

Tho  autliors,  whose  works  you  call  disgusting  and  immoral, 
point  out  this,  and  aflfbrd  you  the  most  pathetic  illustrations  of 
its  truth.  You  need  not  fear  contamination  from  the  vices 
which  they  portray.  Their  depravity  is  of  too  black  a  hue  to 
have  the  least  attraction,  even  to  beings  only  removed  a  few 
degrees  from  the  same  guilt.  Vice  may  have  her  admirers 
when  she  glitters  in  gold  end  scarlet ;  but  when  exposed  in  filtii 
and  nakedness,  her  most  reckless  devotees  shrink  back  from  her 
in  disgust  and  horror.  Vice,  without  her  mask,  is  a  spectacle 
too  appalling  for  humanity;  it  exhibits  the  hideousness,  and 
breathes  of  the  corruption  of  hell. 

If  these  reprobated  works  of  fiction  can  startle  the  rich  into  a 
painful  consciousness  of  the  wants  and  agonies  of  the  poor,  and 
make  them,  in  spite  of  all  the  conventional  laws  of  society, 
acknowledge  their  kindred  humanity,  who  shall  say  that  their 
books  have  been  written  in  vain  ? 

For  my  own  part,  I  look  upon  these  authors  as  heaven-inspired 
teachers,  who  have  been  commissioned  by  the  great  Father  of 
Bouls  to  proclaim  to  the  world  tho  wrongs  and  suflTerings  of 
millions  of  his  creatures,  to  plead  their  cause  with  unflinching 
integrity,  and,  with  almost  superhuman  eloquence,  demand  for 
them  the  justice  which  the  world  has  so  long  denied.  These 
riicn  are  the  benefactors  of  their  species,  to  whom  tho  wholo 
human  race  owe  a  vast  debt  of  gratitude. 

Since  tho  publication  of  Oliver  Twist,  and  many  other  works 
of  the  same  class,  inquiries  have  been  made  by  thinking  and 
benevolent  individuals  into  the  condition  of  the  destitute  poor  in 
great  cities  and  manufacturing  districts.  These  werks  brought 
to  light  deeds  of  dai'kness,  an'^  scenes  of  oppression  and  cruelty. 


i 


f 


« 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


231 


works 
aud 
oor  in 
ought 
uelty, 


scarcely  to  be  credited  in  modern  times  and  in  Christian  com- 
munities. The  attention  of  the  public  was  directed  towards  this 
miserable  class  of  beings,  and  its  best  sympathies  enlisted  in  tlieir 
behalf.  It  was  called  upon  to  assist  in  the  liberation  of  these 
white  slaves,  chained  to  the  oar  for  life  in  the  galleys  of  wealth, 
and  to  recognise  them  as  men  and  brethren. 

Then  sprang  up  the  ragged  schools,— the  institutions  for 
reclaiming  the  youthful  vagrants  of  London,  and  teaching  the 
idle  and  profligate  the  sublime  morality  of  sobriety  and  industry. 

Persons  who  were  unable  to  contribute  money  to  these  truly 
noble  objects  of  charity,  were  ready  to  assist  in  the  capacity  of 
Sunday-school  teachers,  and  add  their  mite  in  the  great  work  of 
moral  reform.  In  over-peopled  countries  like  England  and 
France,  the  evils  arising  out  of  extreme  poverty  could  not  bo 
easily  remedied ;  yet  the  help  thus  afforded  by  the  rich,  contri- 
buted greatly  in  ameliorating  the  distress  of  thousands  of  the 
poorer  classes.  To  the  same  source  we  may  trace  the  mitigation 
of  many  severe  laws.  The  punishment  of  death  is  no  longer 
enforced,  but  in  cases  of  great  depravity.  Mercy  has  stepped  in, 
and  wiped  the  blood  from  the  sword  of  Justice. 

Hood's  "Song  of  the  Shirt"  produced  an  almost  electric  effect 
upon  the  public  mind.  It  was  a  bold,  truthful  appeal  to  the 
best  feelings  of  humanity,  and  it  found  a  response  in  every  feel- 
ing heart.  It  laid  bare  the  distress  of  a  most  deserving  and 
oppressed  portion  of  tlie  female  operatives  in  London;  and  the 
good  it  did  is  at  this  moment  in  active  operation.  Witness  the 
himdreds  of  work-women  landed  within  the  last  twelve  montlis 
on  these  shores,  who  immediately  found  liberal  employment. 

God's  blessing  upon  thee,  Thomas  Hood!  The  effect  produced 
by  that  work  of  divine  charity  of  thine,  will  be  felt  long  after 
thou  and  thy  heart-searching  appeal  have  vanished  into  the 
oblivion  of  the  past.  But  what  matters  it  to  thee  if  the  song  is 
forgotten  by  coming  generations  ?  It  performed  its  mission  of 
mercy  on  earth,  and  has  opened  for  thee  the  gates  of  heaven. 

Such  0  work  of  fiction  as  The  Caxtons  refreshes  and  invigorates 
the  mind  by  its  perusal ;  and  virtue  becomes  beautiful  for  it« 
own  sake.    You  love  the  gentle  humanity  of  the  single-hearted 


<■/ 


m 


232 


LIFE    IN    THK   CLKARINOS. 


U 


■■•i'' 


philosopher,  the  charming  simplicity  of  his  loving  helpmate,  and 
scarcely  know  which  to  admire  the  most — Catherine  in  her 
conjugal  or  maternal  character — the  nohle  but  mistaken  pride 
of  the  fine  old  veteran  Roland,  the  real  hero  of  the  tale  —  or  the 
excellent  young  man,  his  nephew,  who  reclaims  the  fallen  son, 
and  is  not  too  perfect  to  be  unnatural.  As  rfany  fine  moral 
lessons  can  be  learned  from  this  novel,  a^  from  most  works 
written  expressly  for  the  instruction  and  improvement  of  man- 
kind ;  and  they  lose  nothing  by  the  beautiful  and  attractive  garb 
in  which  they  are  presented  to  the  reader. 

Our  blessed  Lord  himself  did  not  disdain  the  use  of  allegory, 
which  is  truth  conveyed  to  the  hearer  under  a  symbolical  form. 
His  admirable  parables,  each  of  which  told  a  little  history,  wero 
the  most  popular  methods  that  could  be  adopted  to  instruct  the 
lower  classes,  who,  chiefly  uneducated,  require  the  illustration 
of  a  subject  in  order  to  understand  it. 

iEsop,  in  his  inimitable  fables,  portrayed  through  his  animals 
the  various  passions  and  vices  of  men,  admirably  adapting  them 
to  the  characters  he  meant  to  satirize,  and  the  abuses  he  endea- 
voured through  this  medium  to  reform.  These  beautiful  fictions 
have  done  much  to  throw  disgrace  upon  roguery,  selfishness, 
cruelty,  avarice,  and  injustice,  and  to  exalt  patience,  fidelity, 
mercy,  and  generosity,  even  among  Christians  who  were  blessed 
with  a  higher  moral  code  than  that  enjoyed  by  the  wise  pagan ; 
and  they  will  continue  to  be  read  and  admired  as  long  as  the 
art  of  printing  exists  to  render  them  immortal. 

Every  good  work  of  fiction  is  a  step  towards  the  mental  im- 
provement of  mankind,  and  to  every  such  writer,  we  say  God 
speed  1 


" 


THE  EARTHQUAKE. 

*'  Hark  !  heard  ye  not  a  sound  ?" 
"Aye,  'tis  the  sullen  roar 
Of  billows  breaking  on  the  shore." 

"  Hush  !  —  'tis  beneath  the  ground, 
That  hollow  rending  shock, 
Makes  the  tall  moimtains  rock,— 


g^S 


LIFE    IN   THB    CLEARINaS. 

The  solid  earth  doth  like  a  drunlcard  reel ; 

Pale  nature  holds  her  breath, 

Her  tribes  arc  mute  as  death. 
In  silent  dread  the  coming  doom  they  feel." 

"Ah,  God  have  mercy  .'—hark  !  those  dismal  cries- 
Man  knows  his  danger  now, 
And  veils  in  dust  his  brow. 
Beneath,  the  yawning  earth— above,  the  lurid  skies  » 
Mortal,  behold  the  toil  and  boast  of  years 
In  one  brief  moment  to  oblivion  hurled. 
So  shall  it  be,  when  this  vain  guilty  world 
Of  woe,  and  sad  necessity  and  tears, 
Sinks  at  the  awful  mandate  of  its  Lord, 
As  erst  it  rose  to  being  at  his  word." 


233 


H 


iK'i 


234 


LirE   IN   THE    CT^EARINOR. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


"  Alas  I  poor  maniac ; 
For  thee  no  hope  can  dawn — no  tender  tic 
Wako  In  thy  ))llp;htcil  heart  a  vhrill  oi'joy ; 
The  fmmortal  mind  ia  levelled  with  the  dust, 
Ere  the  tenacious  chords  of  life  give  way  I" 

8.  M. 


Our  next  visit  was  to  tho  Lunntic  Asylnm,  The  bniliHng 
is  of  wliito  brick — a  material  not  very  common  in  Canada, 
but  nscd  largely  in  Toronto,  "where  stone  has  to  be  brought 
from  a  considerable  distance,  tbcro  being  no  quarries  in  tho 
neighbourhood.  Brick  has  not  the  substantial,  august  ap- 
pearance, that  stone  gives  to  a  largo  building,  and  it  is  moro 
liable  to  injury  from  tho  severe  frosts  of  winter  in  this  climate. 
Tho  asylum  is  a  spacious  edifice,  surrounded  by  extensive 
grounds  for  the  cultivation  of  fruits  and  vegetables.  These 
arc  principally  worked  by  the  male  patients,  who  are  in  a  state 
of  convalescence,  while  it  affords  them  ample  room  for  air  and 
exercise. 

A  large  gang  of  these  unfortunates  were  taking  their  daily 
promenade  when  our  cab  stopped  at  tho  gate.  They  gazed 
upon  us  ^•/ith  an  eager  air  of  childish  curiosity,  as  we  alighted 
from  our  conveyance,  and  entered  tho  building. 

We  were  received  very  politely  by  one  of  the  gentlemen 
belonging  to  the  establishment,  who  proceeded  to  show  us  over 
the  place. 

Ascending  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  as  clean  as  it  was  possible 
for  human  hands  to  make  them,  wo  came  to  a  long  wide  gal- 


'' 


LIFB   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


235 


'^ 


lory,  9oparato<l  at  either  end  by  largo  folding-doors,  the  upper 
part  of  which  vvcro  of  ghv^s;  those  to  the  riglit  oponiiig  into 
tho  ward  set  apart  for  raalo  palientf,  who  were  bo  far  harinlesH 
that  they  wore  allowed  tho  free  use  of  their  limbs,  nnd  could 
bo  spoken  to  witliout  any  danger  to  tho  visitors.  The  female 
lunatics  inhabited  tho  ward  to  tho  left,  and  to  these  wo  first 
directed  our  attention. 

Tho  long  hall  into  which  their  work-rooms  and  Hleoping 
apartments  opened  was  lofty,  well  lighted,  well  aired,  and  ex- 
quisitely clean ;  so  were  tho  persons  of  tho  women,  who  wcro 
walking  to  and  fro,  laughing  and  chatting  very  sociably  to- 
gether. Others  were  sewing  and  quilting  in  rooms  set  apart 
for  that  purpose.  There  was  no  appearance  of  wretchedness 
Of  misery  in  this  ward ;  nothing  that  associated  Avith  it  tho 
terrible  idea  of  madness  I  liad  been  wont  to  entertain — for 
these  poor  creatures  looked  healthy  and  cheorfid,  nay,  almost 
happy,  as  if  they  had  given  the  world  and  all  its  cares  tho 
go-by.  Thoro  was  one  thin,  eccentric  looking  woman  in  mid- 
dle life,  who  came  forward  to  receive  us  with  an  air  of  great 
dignity ;  she  gavo  us  her  hand  in  a  most  condescending 
manner,  and  smiled  most  graciously  when  the  gentleman  who 
was  with  us  inquired  after  her  majcsty''a  liealth.  Sho  fancies 
herself  Victoria,  and  in  order  to  humour  her  conceit,  sJie  is 
allowed  to  wear  a  cap  of  many  colours,  with  tinsel  ornaments. 
This  person,  who  is  from  the  lowest  class,  certainly  enjoys 
lier  imaginary  dignity  in  a  much  greater  degree  than  any 
crowned  monarch,  and  is  perhaps  far  prouder  of  hor 
fool's  cap  than  our  gracious  sovereign  is  of  her  imperial 
diadem. 

Tho  madwomen  round  her  appeared  to  consider  her  as- 
sumption of  royalty  as  a  very  good  joke,  for  tho  homage  they 
rendered  her  was  quizzical  in  the  extreme. 

Thez'e  are  times  when  these  people  seem  to  have  a  vaguo 
consciousness  of  their  situation;  when  gleams  of  sense  break 
in  upon  them,  and  whisper  the  awful  truth  to  their  minds. 
Such  moments  must  form  the  drops  of  bitterness  in  the  poi- 
soned cup  of  life,  which  a  mysterious  Providence  has  presented 


'  ^  % 


230 


LIFK    IN   THE    CLEARINOR. 


'!'    \ 


to  their  lips.  While  I  was  looking  sadly  from  face  to  face,  as 
those  benighted  creatures  flitted  round  me,  a  tall  stout  woman 
exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice — 

"That's  Mrs.  M ,  of  Belleville  I     God  bless  her  J    Many 

a  good  quarter  dollar  I've  got  from  her;"  and,  running  up  to 
me,  she  flung  her  arms  about  my  neck,  and  kissed  me  most 
vehemently. 

I  did  not  at  first  recognise  her ;  and,  though  I  submitted 
with  a  good  grace  to  the  mad  hug  she  gave  me,  I  am  afraid 
that  I  trembled  not  a  little  in  her  grasp.  She  was  the  wife 
of  a  cooper,  who  lived  opposite  to  us  during  the  first  two 
years  we  resided  in  Belleville ;  and  I  used  to  buy  from  her 
nil  the  milk  I  needed  for  the  children. 

She  was  always  a  strange  eccentric  creature  when  sane— If, 
indeed,  she  ever  had  enjoyed  the  right  use  of  her  senses ;  and, 
in  spite  of  the  joy  she  manifested  at  the  unexpected  sight  of 
mo,  I  remember  her  once  threatening  to  break  my  head  with 
an  old  hoop,  when  I  endeavoured  to  save  her  little  girl  from 
a  frightful  flagellation  with  the  same  instrument. 

I  had  stept  across  the  street  to  her  husband's  workshop,  to 
order  a  new  moat  barrel.  I  found  liim  putting  a  barrel  to- 
gether, assisted  by  a  fine  little  girl  of  ten  years  of  age,  who 
embraced  the  staves  with  her  thin  supple  arms,  while  the  father 
slipped  one  of  the  hoops  over  them  in  order  to  secure  them 
in  their  place.  It  was  a  pretty  picture;  the  smiling  rosy  face 
of  the  girl  looking  down  upon  her  father,  as  he  stooped  over 
the  barrel  adjusting  the  hoop,  his  white  curling  hair  falling 
over  her  slender  arms.  Just  then  the  door  was  flung  open, 
and  Mrs. rushed  in  like  a  fury. 

"  Katrine,  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Hero,  mother,"  said  the  child,  very  quietly. 

''  How  dar'd  you  to  leave  the  cradle  without  my  lave?" 

"  Father  called  me,"  and  the  child  turned  pale,  and  began  to 
tremble.    "  I  came  for  a  moment  to  help  him." 

"You  little  wretch!"  cried  the  imjust  woman,  seizing  the 
child  by  the  arm.  "  I'll  teach  you  to  mind  him  more  nor  you 
mind  me.    Take  that,  and  ihaV 


face,  ns 
woTimn 

Many 
g  up  to 
le  most 

ibraitted 
n  atVaul 
:he  wit'o 
rst  two 
:ora  l\cr 

sano— If, 
ea;  ami, 
sight  of 
ead  with 
nrl  from 

cshop,  to 
irrel  to- 
gc,  who 
le  father 
re  them 
osy  face 
ed  over 
falling 
g  open, 


began  to 

zing  the 
nor  you 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLKAUINOt). 


237 


t 


Here  followed  an  awful  oath,  and  nucli  a  blow  upon  the  hare 
nock  of  the  unhappy  child,  that  she  left  her  hold  of  Iho  barrel, 
and  fairly  shrieked  with  pain. 

"Lot  the  girl  alone  Mary  ;  it  was  my  fault,"  said  the  hus- 
band. 

"  Yes,  it  always  is  your  fault !  but  she  shall  pay  for  it ;"  and, 
taking  up  a  broken  hoop,  t>ho  began  to  bcui  iho  child  furiously. 

My  woman's  heart  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  nan  forward, 
and  threw  my  arms  round  the  child. 

"  Get  out  wid  you  1"  she  cried  ;  "  what  business  is  it  of  yours  ? 
ni  break  your  head  if  you  are  not  off  out  of  this." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  Mrs. ;  but  I  would  not  see  you 

use  a  dog  in  that  manner,  much  less  a  child,  who  has  done  no- 
thing to  deserve  such  treatment." 

"Curse  you  all!"  said  the  huraan  fiend,  flinging  down  her 
ugly  weapon,  and  scowling  upon  us  with  her  gloomy  eyes.  "  I 
wish  you  were  all  in ."  ^ 

A  place  far  too  warm  for  this  hot  season  of  the  year,  I  thought, 
as  I  walked  sorrowfully  home.  Bad  as  1  then  considered  her,  I 
have  now  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  incipient  workings  of  her 
direful  malady,  which  certainly  comes  nearest  to  any  idea  wo 
can  form  of  demoniacal  possession.  She  is  at  present  an  in- 
curable but  harmless  maniac ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  instance  of 
cruelty  that  I  have  just  related  towards  her  little  girl,  now, 
during  the  dark  period  of  her  mind's  eclipse,  gleams  of  maternal 
love  struggled  like  glimpses  of  sunshine  through  a  stormy  cloud, 
and  she  inquired  of  mo  earnestly,  pathetically,  nay,  even  ten- 
derly, for  her  children.  Alas,  poor  maniac !  IIow  could  I  tell 
her  that  the  girl  she  had  chastised  so  undeservedly  had  died  in 
early  womanhood,  and  her  son,  a  fine  young  man  of  twenty,  had 
committed  suicide,  and  flung  himself  off  the  bridge  into  the 
Moira  river  only  a  few  months  before.  ITer  insanity  saved  her 
from  the  knowledge  of  event  i  which  might  have  distracted  a 
firmer  braiu.  She  seemed  hardly  satisfied  with  my  evasivo 
answers,  and  looked  doubtingly  and  cunningly  at  mo,  as  if  some 
demon  had  whispered  to  her  the  awful  truth. 

It  was  singular  that  this  woman  should  recognise  mo  after  so 


238 


LIFE    IN   TUB    OLEARINOS. 


If      I' 


many  yoara.  Altered  as  my  appearance  was  by  time  and  eick- 
noHS,  njy  dearest  friends  would  hardly  have  known  ine,  yet  she 
know  mo  at  a  single  glance.  What  was  still  more  extraordinary, 
hIio  remembered  my  daughter,  now  a  wife  and  mother,  whom 
she  had  not  seen  since  sbe  was  a  httlo  girl. 

What  a  wonderful  faculty  is  memory  I  the  most  mysterious 
and  inexplicable  in  the  great  riddle  of  Ul'e ;  that  jdastic  tablet  on 
which  the  Almighty  registers  witli  unerring  lidelity  the  records 
of  being,  making  it  the  depository  of  all  our  words,  thoughts, 
and  deeds — tliis  faithful  witness  against  us  for  good  or  evil,  at 
the  great  assize  that  hereafter  must  determine  our  eternal  fato, 
when  conscience,  at  his  dread  command,  shall  open  up  this  book 
of  lifol  "  Keep  thy  heart,  my  son,  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of 
life."  Bo  sure  that  memory  guards  well  that  secret  treasure. 
All  that  the  heart  over  felt,  the  mind  ever  thought,  the  restless 
spirit  ever  willed,  is  there. 

Another  woman — wild,  dark,  and  fierce-looking,  with  her 
liands  in  mufflers — flitted  after  us  from  room  to  room,  lior  black. 
Hashing  eyes  fixed  intently  on  my  daughter.  "  Yes,  it  is  my  own 
Mary  I  but  she  won't  speak  to  me." 

The  gentleman  in  attendance  begged  us  to  take  no  notice  of 
this  person,  as  she  was  apt  to  bo  very  violent. 

Another  stout,  fair-haired  matron,  with  good  features,  and  a 
very  pleasant  face,  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  us  all  round. 
Judging  from  her  round,  sonsy,  rosy  face,  you  never  could  have 
imagined  her  to  have  been  mad.  When  we  spoke  in  admiration 
of  the  extreme  neatness  and  cleanness  of  the  large  sleeping  apart- 
ment, she  said  very  quietly — 

"  Ah,  you  would  not  wonder  at  that  could  you  see  all  tho 
water-witches  at  night  cleaning  it."  Then  she  turned  to  me,  and 
whispered  very  confidentially  in  my  ear,  "  Are  you  mad  ?  You 
see  these  people ;  t  ley  are  all  mad — as  mad  as  March  hares. 
Don't  come  hero  i^  you  can  help  it.  It's  all  very  well  at  first, 
and  it  looks  very  clean  and  comfortable ;  but  when  tho  doors 
are  once  shut,  you  can't  get  out — no,  not  if  you  ask  it  upon  your 
knees."    She  theu  retreated,  nodding  significantly. 

Leaving  this  ward,  we  visited  tho  one  which  contained  tho 


t 


u 
c 


IS 
0 


UVZ   IN   TUB    CLKARINOS. 


230 


ad  Bick- 
,  yet  slio 
riliiiiiry, 
r,  whom 

ystorious 
tablet  on 
I  records 
.houghts, 
ir  evil,  at 
riml  fate, 
this  book 
I  itwues  of 
troasurc. 
le  reatlesa 

with  her 
lior  black, 
a  my  own 

notico  of 

res,  and  a 
all  round, 
nuld  liavo 
dmiration 
ng  apart- 

ieo  all  the 
o  mo,  and 
ad?  You 
rch  hares. 
3II  at  first, 
the  doors 
apon  your 

tained  tho 


A^ 


male  lunatics.  Tliey  appeared  fur  more  gloomy  and  reserved 
than  tho  women  we  had  lell.  One  young  man,  who  used  to 
travel  tho  country  with  jowcllory,  and  wlu)  had  often  been  at 
our  house,  recognised  us  In  a  moment ;  but  he  did  not  come  for- 
wanl  like  Ati's. to  greet  us,  but  ran  into  a  corner,  and,  turn- 
ing to  tho  wall,  coveretl  his  faco  with  his  hands  until  we  had 
passed  on.  Here  was  at  least  a  consciousness  of  his  unfortunate 
situation,  that  was  very  painful  to  witness.  A  gentlemanly  man 
in  tlie  prime  of  life,  who  had  onoo  practised  the  law  in  Toronto, 
and  was  a  person  of  some  consequence,  still  retained  tho  dress 
and  manners  belongikig  to  his  class  lie  had  gone  to  tlio  samo 
school  with  my  eon-in  law,  and  he  greeted  him  hi  tlie  most 
hearty  and  alFoctionato  manner,  throwing  his  arm  about  his 
shoulder,  and  talking  of  his  alTairs  in  the  most  confidential  man- 
ner. His  mental  aberration  was  only  displayed  in  a  few  harm- 
less remarks,  sucli  as  telling  us  that  this  largo  liouse  was  Ids, 
that  it  had  been  built  witii  his  money,  and  that  it  was  very  hard 
ho  was  kept  a  prisoner  in  his  own  dwelling ;  that  ho  was  worth 
millions,  and  that  pfoplo  were  trying  to  cheat  him  of  all  his 
money,  but,  that  if  c  ico  ho  could  get  out,  lio  would  punish  them 
all.  Ho  then  directed  my  son-in-law  to  bring  up  some  law  books 
that  ho  named,  on  tho  morrow,  and  ho  would  give  him  a  dozen 
suits  against  tho  parties  from  whom  ho  had  received  so  many 
injuries. 

In  tho  balcony,  at  tho  far  end  of  tho  gallery,  wo  found  a  group 
of  men  walking  to  and  fro  for  tho  sako  of  air,  or  loimglng  list- 
lessly on  bonchoi*,  gazing,  with  vacant  cyos,  upon  tho  fine  pros- 
pect of  wood  and  water  dressed  in  tho  gorgeous  hues  of  an  au- 
tuumal  sunset.  One  very  intelligont-loo];ing  man,  with  a  mag- 
nificent head,  was  busy  writing  upon  a  dirty  piece  of  paper,  witli 
a  pencil,  his  table  furnislicd  ])y  his  knee,  and  Ids  desk  tho  cover 
of  his  closed,  but  well-worn  Bible.  IIo  rose  as  wo  drew  near 
hira,  and,  bowing  politely,  gave  us  a  couplo  of  poems  whicli  ho 
drew  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

" These  were  written  some  time  ago,"  he  said;  "one  of  them 
is  much  better  than  the  other.  There  are  some  fine  lines  in  that 
ode  to  Niagara — I  composed  them  on  the  spot." 


w 

I! 
ill 


?^P>^ 


240 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINiJS. 


,1 
>t' 


On  my  observing  the  signaturo  of  DtUa  utfixed  to  these  pro- 
ductions, be  smiled,  and  said,  with  much  complacency,  "  My 
name  is  David  Moiry  This,  upon  inquiry,  wo  found  wjis  really 
the  case,  and  the  mad  poet  considered  that  the  coincidence  gave 
him  a  right  to  enjoy  the  world-wide  fame  of  his  celebrated  name 
sake.  The  poems  which*he  gave  us,  and  which  are  still  in  my 
possession,  contain  some  lines  of  great  merit;  but  they  are 
strangely  unconnected,  and  very  defective  in  rhyme  and  keep- 
ing. Uii  watehed  our  countenances  intently  while  reading  them, 
continually  stepping  in,  and  pointing  out  to  us  his  favorite  pas- 
sages. We  were  going  to  return  them,  but  he  bade  us  keep 
tlic-m.  "  He  had  Imndreds  of  copies  of  them,"  he  said,  "  in  liis 
Lead."  He  then  took  us  on  one  side,  and  entreated  us  in  the 
most  pathetic  manner  to  use  our  influence  to  got  him  out  of  that 
l)Iace.  "  He  was,"  ho  said,  "  a  good  classic  scholar,  and  had 
been  private  tutor  in  several  families  of  high  respectability,  and 
ho  could  show  us  testimor  als  as  to  character  and  ability.  It  is 
hard  to  keep  mo  here  '"iling,"  he  continued,  "  when  my  poor 
little  boys  want  me  so  badly  at  home;  poor  fellows!  and  they 
Lave  no  mother  to  supply  my  place."  lie  sighed  heavily,  and 
drew  his  hand  across  his  brow,  and  looked  sadly  and  dreamily 
into  the  blue  distance  of  Ontario.  The  madman's  thoughts  were 
far  away  with  his  young  sons,  or,  perhaps,  had  ranged  back 
to  the  rugged  heathery  hills  cf  his  own  glorious  mountain  land ! 

There  v.  ere  two  boys  among  these  men  who,  in  spite  of  their 
lunacy,  had  an  eye  to  business,  and  begged  pathetically  for  cop- 
pers, though  of  what  use  they  could  be  to  them  in  that  place  I 
cannot  imagine.  I  saw  no  girls  under  twelve  years  of  age. 
There  were  several  bo^  s  who  appeared  scarcely  in  their  teens. 

Jfounting  another  flight  of  snowy  stairs,  we  came  to  the  wards 
above  those  we  had  just  inspecte<l.  These  were  occupied  by 
patients  that  wero  not  in  a  state  co  allow  visitors  a  nearer 
inspection  than  observing  them  through  the  glass  doors.  By 
standing  upon  a  short  flight  of  broad  steps  that  led  down  to  their 
ward,  we  were  able  to  do  this  with  perfect  security.  The  hanca 
of  all  these  women  were  secured  in  rauflflers ;  some  were  danc- 
ing, others  running  to  and  fro  at  full  speed,  clapping  their  hands, 


LIFE    JN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


241 


liese  pro- 
cy,  ''My 
vas  really 
BDce  gave 
ted  name 
itill  in  my 
they  are 
and  keep- 
ling  them, 
orite  pas- 
e  us  keep 
d,  "  in  Ms 
I  us  in  the 
mt  of  that 
*,  and  had 
biiity,  and 
lity.    It  is 
a  my  poor 
!  and  they 
javily,  and 
i  dreamily 
ighta  were 
inged  hack 
itain  land ! 
e  of  their 
y  for  cop- 
lat  place  I 
rs  of  age. 
lir  teens, 
the  wards 
icupied  ly 
I  a   nearer 
ioors.    By 
ivn  to  their 
The  hanf.s 
^ere  danc- 
leir  hands, 


^> 


and  laugliing  and  shouting  with  the  most  boisterous  merriment. 
IIow  dreadful  is?  the  laugh  of  madness  1  how  sorrowful  the  ex- 
pression of  their  diabolical  mirth  !  tears  and  lamentations  would 
have  been  less  shocking,  for  it  would  have  seemed  more  natural. 

Among  these  raving  maniacs  I  recognized  the  singular  face  of 
Grace  Marks — no  longer  sad  and  despairiug,  but  lighted  up  with 
the  fire  of  insanity,  and  glowing  with  a  hideous  and  fiend-like 
merriment.  On  perceiving  that  strangers  were  observing  hor, 
she  fled  shrieking  away  like  a  phantom  into  one  of  the  side 
rooms.  It  appears  that  even  in  the  wildest  bursts  of  her  terrible 
malady,  she  is  continually  haunted  by  a  memory  of  the  past. 
Ujihappy  girl  I  when  v/ill  t'.ie  long  horror  of  her  punishment 
and  remorse  bo  over?  Tv hen  will  she  sit  at  the  feet  of  Jesus, 
clothed  with  the  uiisul  ied  garments  of  his  righteousness,  the 
stain  (if  blood  washed  from  her  hand,  and  her  soul  redeemed, 
and  pardoned,  and  in  her  right  mind  ?  It  is  fearfnl  to  look  at 
her,  and  contemplate  her  fate  in  connexion  with  Iier  crime. 
What  a  striking  illustration  does  it  aflford  of  that  awful  tuxu, 
"Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord  !" 

There  was  one  woman  in  this  ward,  with  raven  hair  and  eyes, 
and  a  sallow,  unhealthy  complexion,  whom  the  sight  of  U3 
transported  into  a  paroxysm  of  ungovernable  rage.  She  rushed 
to  the  door,  and  doubled  her  fists  at  us,  and  began  cursing  and 
swearing  at  a  furious  rate,  and  theM  she  laughed — such  a  laugh 
as  one  might  fancy  Satan  uttered  when  he  recounted,  in  full 
conclave,  his  triumph  over  the  credulity  of  our  first  mother. 
Presently  she  grew  outrageous,  and  had  to  be  thrown  to 
the  ground,  and  secured  by  two  keepers ;  but  to  silence  her  was 
beyond  their  art.  She  was  kicking  and  foaming,  and  uttering 
words  too  dreadful  for  human  .'ars  to  listen  to;  and  Grace 
Marks  came  out  from  her  hiding-place,  and  performed  a  thou- 
sand mad  gambols  round  her :  and  we  turned  from  the  piteous 
scene, — and  I,  for  one,  fervently  thanked  God  for  my  sanity, 
and  inwardly  repeated  those  exquisite  lines  of  the  peasant  bard 
of  my  native  country : — 

•'  Oh,  Thou,  who  bidd'st  the  vernal  juices  rise, 
Thou  on  whose  blast  autumnal  foliage  flies ; 

U 


t  ] 


242  LIFB   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 

Let  peace  ne'er  leave  me,  nor  my  heart  grow  cold, 
Whilst  life  and  sanity  are  mine  to  hold." 

We  cast  but  a  cursory  glance  on  the  men  who  occupied  the 
opposite  ward.  We  had  seen  enough  of  madness,  and  the 
shrieks  from  the  outrageous  patients  above,  whom  strangers 
have  seldom  nerve  enough  to  visit,  quickened  our  steps  as  we 
hurried  from  the  place. 

We  looked  into  the  large  ball-room  before  we  descended  the 
stairs,  where  these  poor  creatures  are  allowed  at  stated  times  to 
meet  for  pleasure  and  amusement.  But  such  a  spectacle  would 
be  to  me  more  revolting  than  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed ; 
the  delirium  of  their  frightful  disease  would  be  less  shocking  in 
ray  eyes  than  the  madness  of  their  mirth.  The  struggling  gleams 
of  sense  and  memory  in  these  unhappy  people  reminded  me  of  a 
beautiful  passage  in  "Tupper's  Proverbial  Philosophy:" 

"  On  all  things  created  remaincth  the  half-effaced  signature  of  God  j 
Somewhat  of  i9.it  and  good,  though  blotted  by  the  finger  of  corruption." 

What  a  sublime  truth  I  How  beautifully  and  forcibly  ex- 
pressed !  With  -what  a  mournful  dignity  it  invests  our  fallen 
nature !  Sin  has  marred  the  Divine  image  in  which  we  were 
made,  but  the  soul  in  its  intense  longing  after  God  and  good 
bears,  in  its  sorrowful  servitude  to  evil,  the  impress  of  the  hand 
that  fonned  it  happy  and  free.  Yes,  even  in  the  most  abject 
and  fallen,  some  slight  trace  of  good  remains — so7no  spark  of  the 
Divine  essence  tha",  still  lingers  amid  the  darkness  and  corruption 
of  guilt,  to  rekindle  the  dying  embers,  and  restore  them  once 
more  to  life  and  liberty.  The  madman  raving  in  his  chains  still 
remembers  his  God,  to  bless  or  blaspheme  his  naino.  We  are 
nstouished  at  his  ecstatic  dream  of  happiness,  or  shocked  beyond 
measure  at  the  blackness  of  his  despair.  His  superhuman 
strength  fills  us  with  wonder ;  and,  oven  in  the  extinction  of 
reason,  we  acknowledge  the  eternal  presence  of  God,  and  per- 
ceive flashes  of  Ilia  Spirit  breaking  througli  the  dark  material 
cloud  that  shades,  but  cannot  wholly  annihilate  the  light  of  the 
soul,  the  immortality  within. 

The  poor,  senseless  idiot,  who  appears  to  mortal  eyes  a  mere 


LIFE   IN   TDE   CLEARINGS. 


243 


I 


living  machine,  a  body  without  a  soul,  sitting  among  the  grass, 
and  playing  with  the  flowers  and  pebbles  in  the  vacancy  of  his 
mind,  is  still  a  wonderful  illustration  of  the  wisdom  and  power 
of  God.  "NVe  behold  a  human  being  inferior  in  instinct  and 
intelligence  to  the  meanest  orders  of  animal  life,  dependent  upon 
the  comm.on  charities  of  his  kind  for  srbsistence,  yet  conscious 
of  the  friend  who  pities  his  helplessness,  and  of  the  hand  that 
administers  to  his  wants.  The  Spirit  of  his  Maker  shall  yet 
breathe  upon  the  dull  chaos  of  his  stagnant  brain,  and  open  the 
eyes  of  this  blind  of  soul  into  the  light  of  his  own  eternal  day! 
What  a  lesson  to  the  pride  of  man — to  the  vain  dwellers  in 
houses  of  clay  I 

Returning  from  the  asylum,  we  stopped  to  examine  Trinity 
College,  which  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  The  architect, 
K.  TuUy,  Esq.,  has  shown  considerable  taste  and  genius  in  the 
design  of  this  edifice,  which,  like  the  asylum,  is  built  of  white 
brick,  the  corners,  doors,  and  windows  faced  with  cut  stone. 
It  stands  back  from  the  road  in  a  fine  park-like  lawn,  surrounded 
by  stately  trees  of  nature's  own  planting.  When  the  college  is 
completed,  it  will  be  one  of  the  finest  public  buildings  in  the 
province,  and  form  one  of  the  noblest  ornaments  to  this  part  of 
the  city. 

THE  MANIAC. 

"The  wind  at  my  casement  scream'd  shrilly  and  loud, 
'  And  the  pale  moon  look'd  in  from  the  mantle  of  cloud  j 
Old  ocean  was  tossing  in  terrible  might, 
And  the  black  rolling  billows  were  crested  with  light. 
Liko  a  shadowy  dream  on  my  senses  that  hour, 
Stole  the  beautiful  vision  of  grandeur  and  power  ; 
And  the  sorrows  of  life  that  brought  tears  to  mine  eye, 
Were  forgot  in  the  glories  of  ocean  and  sky. 


a  mere 


"•Oh  nature  !'  I  cried,  'in  thy  beautiful  face 
All  the  wisdom  and  love  of  thy  Maker  I  trace ; 
Thy  aspect  divine  checks  my  tears  as  they  start, 
And  fond  hopes,  long  banish'd,  flow  back  to  my  heart ! ' 


ii''" 


244 


L77B   IN  THE   CLEARIKOS. 


'  :i 


i 


Thus  musing,  I  wander'd  alone  to  the  shore, 
To  gaze  on  the  waters,  and  list  to  their  roar, 
When  I  saw  a  poor  lost  one  bend  over  the  steep 
Of  the  tall  beetling  clifT  that  juts  out  o'er  the  deep. 

''The  wind  wav'd  her  garments,  and  April's  rash  showers 
Hung  like  gems  in  her  dark  locks*,  enwreath'd  with  wild  flowers : 
Her  bosom  was  bared  to  the  cold  midnight  storm, 
That  unsparingly  beat  on  her  thin  fragile  form; 
Her  black  eyes  flash'd  sternly  whence  reason  had  fled. 
And  she  glanc'd  on  my  sight  like  some  ghost  of  the  dead 
As  she  sang  a  loud  strain  to  the  hoarse  dashing  surge, 
That  rang  on  my  ears  like  the  plaint  of  a  dirge. 

"And  he  who  had  left  her  to  madness  and  shame. 
Who  had  robb'd  her  of  honour,  and  blasted  her  fame — 
Did  he  think,  in  that  hour,  of  the  heart  he  had  riven, 
The  vows  he  had  broken,  the  anguish  he'd  given ! — 
And  where  was  the  infant,  whose  birth  gave  the  blow 
To  the  peace  of  the  mother,  and  madden'd  her  woe  ? 
A  thought  rush'd  across  me — I  ask'd  for  her  child, — 
With  a  wild  laugh  of  triumph  the  maniac  replied — 

" '  Where  the  dark  tide  runs  strongest,  the  cliff  rises  steep. 
Where  the  wild  waters  eddy,  I've  rock'd  him  to  sleep  : 
His  sleep  is  so  sound  that  the  rush  of  the  stream, 
When  the  winds  are  abroad,  cannot  waken  his  dream. 
And  see  you  that  rock,  with  its  surf-beaten  side, 
There  the  blood  of  my  false  love  runs  red  with  the  tide  ; 
The  sea-mew  screams  shrilly,  the  white  breakers  rave — 
In  the  foam  of  the  billow  I'll  dance  o'er  his  grave  !' 

"'Mid  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  the  wind's  hollow  moan, 
There  rose  on  my  chill'd  car  a  faint,  dying  groan  ; 
The  billows  raged  on  ;    the  moon  smiled  on  the  flood  j 
But  vacant  the  spot  whore  the  maniac  had  stood. 
I  turned  from  the  scene— on  my  spirit  there  fell 
A  question  that  sadden'd  my  heart  like  a  knell ; 
1  look'd  up  to  heav'n,  but  I  breath'd  not  a  word, 
For  the  answer  was  given — 'Trust  thou  in  the  Lord!'" 


;l 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


245 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  A  happy  scene  of  rural  mirth, 
Drawn  from  the  teaming  lap  of  earth, 
In  which  a  nation's  promise  lies. 
Honor  to  him  who  wins  a  prize  I — 
A  trophy  won  by  honor's  toil 
Par  nobler  than  the  victor's  spoil." 


S.  M. 


Toronto  was  all  bustle  and  excitement,  preparing  for  the 
Provincial  Agricultural  Show ;  no  other  subject  was  thought  of 
or  tolked  about.  The  ladies,  too,  taking  advantage  of  the  great 
influx  of  strangers  to  the  city,  were  to  hold  a  bazaar  for  the 
benefit  of  St.  George's  Church ;  the  sum  which  they  hoped  to 
realize  by  the  sale  of  their  fancy  wares  to  be  appropriated  to 
paying  off  the  remaining  debt  contracted  for  tlie  said  saint, 
in  erecting  this  handsome  edifice  dedicated  to  his  name — let  us 
hope  not  to  his  service.  Yet  the  idea  of  erecting  a  temple  for 
the  worship  of  God,  and  calling  it  the  church  of  a  saint  of  very 
doubtful  sanctity^  is  one  of  those  laughabl;.  absurdities  that  wo 
would  gladly  see  banished  in  this  enlightened  ago.  Truly,  there 
are  many  things  in  which  our  wisdom  does  not  exceed  the  wis- 
dom of  our  forefathers.  The  weather  during  the  first  two  days 
of  the  exhibition  was  very  unpropitious;  a  succession  of  drench- 
ing thunder  showers,  succeeded  by  warm  bursts  of  sunshine, 
promising  better  things,  and  giving  rise  to  hopes  in  the  ex- 
pectant visitants  to  the  show,  which  wore  as  often  doomed  to 
be  disappointed  by  returns  of  blackness,  storm,  and  pouring 
rain. 

I  was  very  anxious  i,o  hear  the  opening  address,  and  I  must 


'     V 


i'lf' 


240 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


..' 


■|  ''if. 


V    i 


confess  that  I  was  among  those  who  felt  this  annihilation  o."  hope 
very  severely  ;  and,  being  an  invalid,  I  dared  not  venture  upon 
the  grounds  before  Wednesday  morning,  when  this  most  interest- 
ing part  of  the  porforraanco  was  over.  Wednesday,  however, 
Avas  as  beautiful  a  Septo'"ber  day  as  the  most  sanguine  of  the 
agricultural  exhibitors  could  desire,  and  the  finespace  allotted 
for  the  display  of  the  various  objects  of  industry  was  crowded  to 
overflowing. 

It  was  a  glorious  scene  for  those  who  had  the  interest  of  the 
colony  at  heart.  Every  district  of  the  Upper  Province  had  con- 
tributed i*3  portion  of  labour,  talent,  and  ingenuity,  to  furnish 
forth  the  show.  TL3  products  of  the  soil,  the  anvil,  and  the 
loom,  met  the  eye  at  every  turn.  The  genius  of  the  mechanic 
was  displayed  in  the  effective  articles  of  machinery,  invented  to 
assist  the  toils  and  shorten  the  labour  of  human  hands,  and  were 
many  and  excellent  in  their  kind.  Improvements  in  old  imjjle- 
monts,  and  others  entirely  new  were  shown  or  put  into  active 
operation  by  the  inventors — those  real  benefactors  to  the  human 
race,  to  whom  the  exploits  of  conquerors,  however  startling  and 
brilliant,  are  verj  inferior  in  every  sense. 

Iifechanical  genius,  which  ought  to  be  regarded  as  the  first 
and  greatest  effort  of  human  intellect,  is  only  now  beginning  to 
bo  recognised  as  such.  The  statesfnan,  warrior,  poet,  painter, 
orator,  and  man  of  letters,  all  have  their  niche  in  the  temple  of 
fame — all  have  had  their  worshippers  and  admirers ;  but  who 
among  them  has  celebrated  in  song  and  tale  the  grand  creative 
power  which  can  make  inanimate  metals  move,  and  act  and  al- 
most live,  in  the  wondrous  machinery  of  the  present  day  1  It  is 
the  mind  that  conceived,  the  hand  that  reduced  to  practical 
usefulness  these  miraculous  instruments,  with  all  their  compli- 
cated works  moving  in  harmony,  and  performing  their  appointed 
office,  that  comes  nearest  to  the  sublime  Intelligence  that 
framed  the  universe,  and  gave  light  and  motion  to  that  astonish- 
ing piece  of  mechanism,  the  human  form. 

In  watching  the  movements  of  the  steam-engine,  one  can 
hardly  divest  one's  self  of  the  idea  that  it  possesses  life  and  con- 
scioasness.    True,  the  metal  is  but  a  dead  agent,  but  the  spirit 


, 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEARINGS. 


2i1 


of  tho  originator  still  lives  iu  it,  and  sways  it  to  tho  gigantic 
will  that  first  gave  it  motion  and  power.  And,  oh,  what  ""loa- 
ders has  it  not  achieved  1  what  obstacles  has  it  not  overcome  I 
how  has  it  brought  near  things  that  were  far  oiF,  and  crumbled 
into  dust  difficulties  which,  at  first  sight,  appeared  insur- 
mountable 1  Honour  to  the  clear-sighted,  deep-thinking  child  of 
springs  and  wheels,  at  whose  head  stands  the  groat  Founder  of 
the  world,  tho  grandest  humanity  that  ever  trodo  the  earth  I 
Kejoice,  and  shout  for  joy,  yo  sous  of  the  rule  and  linel  for  was 
he  not  one  of  you  ?  Did  he  not  condescend  to  bow  that  God- 
like form  over  ti.?^  carpenter's  bench,  and  handle  tho  plane  and 
saw  ?  Yours  should  be  termed  tho  Divine  craft,  and  those  who 
follow  it  truly  noble.  Your  great  Master  was  above  the  little 
things  of  earth ;  he  knew  the  true  dignity  of  man — that  virtue 
conferred  the  same  m^esty  upon  its  possessor  in  the  worksliop 
or  the  palace — that  tho  soul's  title  to  rank  as  a  son  of  God 
required  neither  high  birth,  nor  tho  adventitious  claims  of 
wealth — that  the  simple  name  of  a  good  man  was  a  moro 
abiding  honour,  even  in  this  world,  than  that  of  kings  or  em- 
perors. 

Oh  1  ye  sons  of  labour,  seek  to  attain  this  true  dignity 
inherent  in  your  nature,  and  cease  to  envy  the  possessors  of 
those  ephemeral  honours  that  perish  with  the  perishing  things 
of  this  world.  The  time  is  coming — is  now  even  at  the  doors — 
when  education  shall  give  you  a  truer  standing  in  society,  and 
good  men  throughout  the  whole  world  shall  reocgniso  each 
other  as  brothers. 

"  An'  o'er  tho  earth  gudo  sense  an'  worth 
Shall  bear  the  greo  an'  a'  that." 


Gamed  away  from  my  subject  by  an  impetuous  current  of 
thought,  I  must  step  back  to  tho  show  from  which  I  derived  a 
a  great  deal  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure.  The  space  in  which  it 
was  exhibited  contained,  I  am  told,  about  sixteen  acres.  Tho 
rear  of  this,  where  the  animals  were  shown,  was  a  large  grove 
covered  with  tall  spreading  trees,  beneath  the  shade  of  which, 
reposing  or  standing  iu  tho  most  picturesque  attitudes,  wore  to 


248 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


''  }\ 


be  seen  the  finest  breeds  of  cfittlo,  liorscs,  and  sheep,  in  the  pro- 
vince. This  enclosure  was  surrounded  by  a  high  boarded  fence, 
against  which  pens  were  erected  for  the  accomodation  of  ple- 
thoric-looking pigs,  fat  Bleepy  lambs,  and  wild  mischievous 
goats ;  while  noble  horses  were  led  to  and  fro  by  their  owners  or 
th  ir  servants,  snorting  and  curveting  in  all  the  conscious  pride 
of  strength  and  beauty.  These  handsome,  proud-looking 
creatures,  might  be  considered  the  aristocracy  of  the  animal  de- 
partment; yet,  in  spite  of  their  prancing  hoofs,  arched  necks, 
and  glances  of  fire,  they  had  to  labour  in  their  vocation  as  well 
as  the  poorest  pig  that  grunted  and  panted  in  its  close  pen. 
There  was  a  donkfey  theve — a  solitary  ass — the  first  of  his  kind  I 
over  beheld  i'.  the  province.  Unnsed  to  such  a  stir  and  bustle, 
he  lirt<-d  up  his  voice,  and  made  the  grove  ring  witli  his  discor- 
dant notes.  The  horses  bounded  and  rearer! ,  and  glanced  down 
upon  him  in  such  mad  disdain,  that  they  could  scarcely  be  con- 
trolled by  their  keepers.  1  a  '  imagine  the  astonishment  they 
must  have  felt  on  hearing  tho  first  bray  of  an  ass ;  they  could 
not  have  appeared  more  fc.'artled  at  a  lion's  roar.  "Whoever 
exhibited  Mr,  Braham  was  a  brave  man.  A  gentleman,  who 
settled  in  tlie  neighbourhood  of  Peterboiu'  twenty  years 
ago,  brought  out  a  donkey  with  him  to  Canaiia,  and  until  tlie 
day  of  his  death  he  went  by  no  other  name  than  the  undignified 
one  of  Donkey. 

I  cannot  help  tliinking,  that  the  donkey  would  be  a  very 
nsefal  creature  in  the  colony.  Though  rather  an  untractable 
democrat,  insisting  on  having  things  his  own  way,  he  his  a 
Lardy,  patient  fellow,  and  easily  kept ;  and  though  very  obsti- 
nate, is  by  no  means  insensible  of  kind  treatment,  or  iiicapable 
of  attachment ;  and  thtiu,  as  an  exterminator  of  Canadian 
thistles^  he  would  prove  an  invaluable  reformer  by  removing 
these  agricultural  pests  out  of  the  way.  Often  have  T  gazed 
upon  the  Canadian  thisti'; — that  prolifin.  sturdy  democra  of  tho 
soil,  that  rudely  jostles  aside  its  more  delicate  and  vuued  neigh- 
bours, elbowing  them  from  their  places  with  its  wide-spreading 
and  armed  foliage — and  asked  myself  for  what  purpose  it  grew 
and  flourished  so  abundantly?    Surely,   it  must    >^ive    some 


r-\  ' 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


240 


' 


grew 
some 


useful  qnalitiee;  some  good  must  lie  hidden  under  its  hardy 
Rtructnre  and  coat  of  mail,  independently  of  its  exwcising  those 
valuable  qualities  in  man — patience  and  industry— which  must 
be  called  into  active  operation  in  order  to  root  it  out,  and  hinder 
it  from  destroying  the  fruits  of  his  labour.  The  time,  perhaps, 
may  arrive  when  its  thick  milky  juices  and  oily  roots  may  be 
found  to  yield  nutricious  food,  or  afforc  a  soothing  narcotic  to 
alleviate  the  restless  tossings  of  pain.  I  firmly  believe  that 
nothing  has  been  made  in  vain  ;  that  every  animate  and  inani- 
mate substance  has  its  use,  although  we  may  be  ignorant  of  it ; 
that  the  most  perfect  and  beantiful  liarmony  reigns  over  the 
visible  world ;  that  although  we  may  foolishly  despise  those 
animals,  plants,  and  insects,  that  wo  consider  noxious,  because 
their  real  utility  has  never  been  tested  by  experience,  they  are 
absolutely  necessary  as  links  in  the  great  c\iain  of  Providence, 
and  appointed  to  fulfil  a  special  purpose  and  end. 

"  What  shall  we  do  for  firewood  when  all  the  forests  are 
burned  ?"  was  a  very  natural  question  asked  us  the  other  day  by 
a  young  friend,  who,  with  very  scanty  means,  contemplated 
with  a  sort  of  horror  the  increased  demand  for  fuel,  and  its 
increasing  price. 

Tupper  has  an  admirable  answer  for  all  such  querier : — 

"  Yet  man,  heedless  of  a  God,  counteth  up  vain  reckonings, 
Fearing  to  be  jostled  and  starved  out  by  the  too  prolific  increase  of  his 

kind, 
And  asketh,  in  unbelieving  dread,  for  how  few  years  to  come 
Will  the  black  cellars  of  the  world  yield  unto  him  fuel  for  his  winter. 
Might  not  the  wide  waste  sea  be  bent  into  narrower  boimds  ? 
Migbt  not  the  arm  of  diligence  make  the  tangled  wilderness  a  garden  ? 
And  for  aught  thou  canst  tell,  there  may  be  a  thousand  methods 
Of  comforting  thy  limbs  in  warmth,  though  thou  kindle  not  a  spark. 
Fear  not,  son  of  man,  for  thyself,  nor  thy  seed — with  a  multitude  ia  plenty  : 
God's  blessing  giveth  increase,  and  with  it  larger  than  enough." 

Surely  it  is  folly  for  any  one  to  despair  of  the  future,  while 
the  providence  of  God  superintends  the  affairs  of  the  universe. 
Is  it  not  sinful  tc  doubt  the  power  of  that  Being,  who  fed  a  vast 

11* 


260 


LIFB   IN   THE   OLEARiyOS. 


'    M 


n 


multitude  from  a  few  loaves  and  small  Gshos?  Is  His  arm 
shortened,  that  ho  can  no  longer  produce  those  articles  that  are 
iudispeusable  and  necessary  for  the  health  and  comfort  of  tho 
creatures  dependent  upon  his  bounty  ?  What  millions  have  been 
fed  by  the  introduction  of  the  potato  plant — that  wild,  hnlf- 
poisonous  native  of  tho  Chilian  mountains!  When  first  ex- 
hibited as  a  curiosity  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  could  have 
imagined  the  astonishing  results — not  only  in  feeding  the  multi- 
tudes that  for  several  ages  in  Ireland  it  has  fed,  but  that  tho 
very  blight  upon  it,  by  stopping  an  easy  mode  of  obtaining  food, 
should  bo  the  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  great  Father  to 
induce  these  impoverished,  starving  children  of  an  unhappy 
country,  to  remove  to  lands  where  honest  toil  would  be  amply 
remunerated,  and  produce  greater  blessings  for  tbem  than  tho 
precarious  support  afforded  by  an  esculent  root  ?  We  have  faith, 
unbounded  faith,  in  the  benevolent  care  of  the  Universal  Father, 
— faith  in  the  fertility  of  the  earth,  and  her  capabilities  of  sup- 
porting to  tho  end  of  time  her  numerous  of&pring. 

The  over-population  of  old  settled  countries  may  appear  to  a 
casual  thinker  a  dreadful  calamity ;  and  yet  it  is  but  the  natural 
means  employed  by  Providence,  to  force  the  poorer  classes,  by 
tho  strong  law  of  necessity,  to  emigrate  and  spread  themselves 
over  the  earth,  in  order  to  bring  into  cultivation  and  usefulness 
its  waste  places.  When  the  world  can  no  longer  maintain  its 
inhabitants,  it  will  bo  struck  out  of  being  by  the  fiat  of  Him  who 
called  it  into  existence. 

Nothing  has  contributed  more  to  the  rapid  advance  of  tho 
province  than  the  institution  of  the  Agricultural  Society,  and 
iiom  it  we  are  already  reaping  the  most  beneficial  results.  It 
has  stirred  up  a  spirit  of  en"ilation  in  a  large  class  of  people,  who 
were  very  supine  in  their  method  of  cultivating  their  lands; 
who,  instead  of  improving  them,  and  making  them  produce  not 
only  the  largest  quantity  of  grain,  but  that  of  the  best  quality, 
were  quite  contented  if  they  reaped  enough  from  their  slovenly 
farming  to  supply  the  wants  of  their  family,  of  a  very  inferior 
sort. 

Now,  we  behold  a  laudable  struggle  among  the  tillers  of  the 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKATIINGS. 


261 


Boil,  as  to  wliich  Suiall  send  tho  best  spccimons  of  good  has- 
bandry  to  contend  for  tho  prizes  at  the  provinciid  shows,  where 
very  largo  suius  of  money  are  expended  iu  providing  handsome 
preniiiuna  for  the  victors.  All  tho  leading  men  in  tho  province 
are  njembers  of  this  truly  lionourablo  institution ;  and  many  of 
them  send  horses,  and  the  growth  of  their  gardens,  to  add  to  tho 
general  bustle  and  excitement  of  the  scene.  Tho  summer  beforo 
last,  my  husband  took  the  second  prize  for 'wheat  at  tlie  pro- 
vincial show,  and  I  must  frankly  own  that  I  felt  as  proud  of  it 
as  if  it  had  been  tho  same  sum  bestowed  upon  a  i)rizo  poem. 

Tl»ero  was  an  immense  display  of  farm  produce  on  the  present 
occasion  at  Toronto,  all  excellent  in  their  kind.  The  Agricul- 
tural Hall,  a  large,  temporary  building  of  boards,  was  comi»letely 
filled  with  the  fruits  of  tho  earth  and  tho  products  of  the  dairy — 


' 


"  A  glorious  sight,  if  glory  dwells  below, 
Where  heaven's  munificence  makes  all  the  show." 

Tho  most  delicious  butter  and  tempting  cheese,  quite  equal, 
perhaps,  to  the  renowned  British  in  every  thing  but  the  name, 
were  displayed  iu  the  greatest  abundance. 

A  Mr.  Hiram  Ranney,  from  the  Brock  district,  contributed  a 
monster  cheese,  weighing  7  cwt.,  not  made  of  double  skimmed 
sky-blue,"  but  of  milk  of  the  richest  quality,  which,  from  its  sizo 
and  appearance,  might  have  feasted  all  tho  rats  and  mice  in  tho 
province  for  the  next  twelve  months.  It  was  largo  enough  to 
have  made  the  good  old  deity  of  heathen  times — her  godship  of 
the  earth — an  agricultural  throne ;  while  from  tho  floral  hall, 
close  at  hand,  a  crown  could  have  been  woven,  "bn  the  shortest 
notice,  of  the  choicest  buds  from  her  own  inexhaustible 
treasury. 

A  great  quantity  of  fine  flax  and  hemp  particularly  attracted 
my  attention.  Both  grow  admirably  in  this  country,  and  at  no 
very  distant  period  will  form  staple  articles  for  homo  manufac- 
ture and  foreign  export. 

The  vast  improvement  in  home-manufactured  cloth,  blankets, 
flannels,  shawls,  carpeting,  and  counterpanes,  was  very  apparent 


253 


LIFE   IN    THE    CLBARINOS. 


I 


over  tho  paino  nrticlcs  in  former  years.  In  a  sliort  time  Canada 
need  not  be  boliolden  to  any  foreign  country  fur  articles  of  com- 
fort and  convenience.  In  these  tlangs  her  real  wealth  and 
strength  are  shown  ;  and  we  may  well  augur  from  what  she  has 
already  achieved  in  this  line,  how  much  more  she  can  do — and 
do  well — with  credit  and  profit  to  herself. 

Tho  slieep  in  Canada  are  not  subject  to  tho  diseases  which 
carry  off  so  many  yearly  in  Britain  ;  and  though  these  animala 
liave  to  bo  housed  dunug  tho  winter,  they  are  a  very  profitable 
stock.  Tho  Canadian  grass-fed  mutton  is  not  so  largo  as  it  is  in 
England,  and  in  flavour  and  texture  more  nearly  resembles  tho 
Scotch.  It  has  more  of  a  young  flavour,  and,  to  my  thinking, 
afl'ords  a  more  wholesome,  profitable  article  of  consumption. 
Beef  is  very  inferior  to  tho  British  ;  but  since  the  attention  of 
the  i)eople  has  been  more  intently  directed  to  their  agricultural 
interests,  there  is  a  decided  improvement  in  this  respect,  and 
tho  condition  of  all  the  meat  sent  to  market  now-a-days  is  ten 
])er  ce  >  i.  bettor  than  the  lean,  hard  animals,  wo  used  to  pur- 
chase for  winter  provisions,  when  we  first  came  to  tho 
I)rovince. 

At  that  time  they  had  a  race  of  pigs,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  fierce, 
bristling  manes,  that  wandered  about  the  roads  and  woods, 
seeking  what  they  could  devour,  like  famislied  wolves.  You 
might  have  pronounced  them,  without  any  great  stretch  of 
imagination,  descended  from  the  same  stock  into  which  tho 
attendant  fiends  that  possessed  the  poor  maniacs  of  Galilee  had 
been  cast  so  many  ages  ago.  I  know  a  gentleman  who  was 
attacked  in  tlie  bush  by  a  sow  of  this  ferocious  breed,  who 
fairly  treed  hitn  in  the  woods  of  Douro,  and  kept  him  on  his 
uncomfortable  perch  during  several  hom*s,  until  his  swinish 
enemy's  patience  was  exhausted,  and  she  had  to  give  up  her 
supper  of  human  flesh  for  the  more  natural  products  of  the 
forest,  acorns  and  beech-mast. 

Talking  of  pigs  and  sheep  recalls  to  my  mind  an  amusing 
anecdote,  told  to  me  by  a  resident  of  one  of  our  back  townships, 
which  illustrates,  even  in  a  cruel  act  of  retaliation,  the  dry 
humour  which  so  strongly  characterizes  the  lower  class  of 


LIFE    IN    THE    CI.KAnrVOB. 


253 


emlRrnnts  from  tho  oincrald  iwlo.  I  will  givo  it  in  my  yonng 
frieixl's  own  words: — 

"In  OMO  of  our  hftck  townships  there  lived  nn  old  Dutchman, 
who  was  of  such  a  vindictive  temper  that  none  of  hi-s  neigh- 
bonrs  could  remain  in  ponco  with  him.  llo  made  tho  owners 
of  tho  next  farm  so  mi«crablo  that  tliey  were  ohligod  to 
soil  out,  and  leave  tho  place.  Tho  farm  passed  throuj^h  many 
hands,  and  at  last  hecamo  vacant,  for  no  ono  coidd  stay  on  it 
more  than  a  few  months;  they  were  so  worried  and  annoyed 
by  this  s[)iteful  old  man,  who,  upon  tho  flightost  occasion, 
throw  down  their  fences  and  injured  their  cattle.  In  short,  the 
]K)or  people  began  to  suspect  that  ho  was  tho  devil  himself,  sent 
among  them  as  a  punishment  for  their  sins. 

"  At  last  an  Irish  emigrant  lately  out  was  offered  tho  place 
very  cheap,  and  to  tho  astonishment  of  all,  bought  it,  in  spite  of 
the  bad  karacter^  for  the  future  residence  of  himself  and 
family. 

"  He  had  not  been  long  on  the  now  place  when  ono  of  his 
sheep,  which  had  got  througli  a  hole  in  the  Dutchman's  fence, 
came  hobbling  homo  with  ono  of  its  legs  stuck  through  the 
other.  Now,  you  must  know  that  this  man,  who  was  so  active 
in  punishing  the  trespasses  of  his  neighbours'  cattle  and  stock, 
was  not  at  all  particular  in  keeping  his  own  at  homo.  There 
happened  to  be  an  old  sow  of  his,  who  was  very  fond  of  Pat's 
potaties^  and  a  constant  throxihle  to  him,  just  then  in  tho  field 
when  the  sheep  camo  home.  Pat  took  tho  old  sow  (not  very 
tenderly,  I'm  afraid)  by  the  ear,  and  drawing  out  his  jack-knife, 
very  deliberately  slit  her  month  on  either  side  as  far  as  ho  could. 
By  and  by,  tho  old  Dutchman  camo  puffmg  and  blowing  along ; 
and  seeing  Put  sitting  upon  his  door-step,  enjoying  tho  evening 
air,  and  comfortably  smoking  his  pipe,  ho  asked  him  if  ho  had 
seen  anything  of  his  sow  ? 

" '  Well,  neighbour,'  said  Pat,  putting  on  ono  of  his  gravest 
faces,  '  one  of  the  strangest  things  happened  a  short  while  ago 
that  I  ever  saw.  A  sheep  of  mine  camo  homo  with  its  leg  slit 
and  the  other  put  through  it,  and  your  old  sow  was  so  amused 
with  the  odd  sight  that  sho  split  her  jawa  with  laughing.'  " 


254 


LIFE   IN   THB   CLEARINGS. 


t 


1 

1 

i: 

1 

This  turned  tLe  tables  upou  the  spiteful  old  man,  and  com- 
pletely cured  him  of  all  his  ill-natured  tricks.  He  is  rev  one  of 
the  best  neighbours  in  the  township. 

This  was  but  a  poor  reparation  to  the  poor  sheep  and  tha  old 
sow.  Their  sufferings  appear  to  have  been  regarded  by  both 
parties  as  a  very  minor  consideration. 

Tiie  hf*\\  set  apart  for  the  display  of  fancy  work  and  the  fine 
arts  appeared  to  be  the  great  centre  of  attraction,  for  it  was 
almost  imposs  ble  to  force  your  way  through  the  dense  crowd, 
or  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  pictures  exhibited  by  native  artiaLs. 
The  show  of  these  was  highly  creditable  indeed.  Eight  pictures, 
illustrative  of  Indian  scenery,  character,  and  customs,  by  Mr. 
Panl  Kane,  would  have  done  honour  to  any  exhibition.  For 
correctness  of  design,  beauty  of  colouring,  and  a  faithful  repre- 
sentation of  the  peculiar  scenery  of  this  continent,  they  could 
i^carcel^  be  surpassed. 

I  stood  for  a  long  time  intently  examining  those  interesting 
pictures,  when  a  tall  fellow,  in  the  grey  homespun  of  the  coun- 
try, who,  I  suppose,  thought  that  I  had  had  my  share  of  enjoy- 
ment in  that  department,  very  coolly  took  me  by  the  shoulders, 
pulled  me  back  into  the  crowd,  and  possessed  himself  of  my 
vacant  place.  This  man  should  have  formed  a  cla^s  with  the 
two  large  tamo  bears  exhibited  on  the  ground  appropriated  to 
the  poultry;  but  I  rather  thi",h  that  Bruin  and  his  brother 
would  have  been  ashamed  of  having  him  added  to  their  frater- 
nity ;  seeing  that  their  conduct  was  quite  unexceptionable,  and 
they  could  have  set  a  good  example  to  numbers  of  the  human 
bipeds,  who  pushed  and  elbowed  from  side  to  side-anything  that 
obstructed  their  path,  while  a  little  common  courtesy  would 
have  secured  to  themselves  and  others  a  far  better  opportunity  of 
examining  everything  carefully.  The  greatest  nuisance  in  this 
respect  was  a  multitude  of  small  children,  Avho  were  completely 
hidden  in  the  press,  and  whose  feet,  hands,  and  head,  dealt 
blows,  against  which  it  was  impossible  to  protect  yourself,  as 
you  felt  severely  witho'^L  being  able  to  ward  off  their  homo- 
thrusts.  It  is  plain  that  they  could  not  see  at  all,  but  were 
determined  that  every  one  should  sensibly /(?e2  their  disappoint- 


LITB    IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


255 


ind  cora- 
rv  one  of 

id  th3  old 
by  both 

1  the  fine 
for  it  wad 
je  crowd, 
^e  artists. 
;  pictures, 
3,  by  Mr. 
ion.  For 
ful  repre- 
hey  could 

nteresting 
the  coun- 
of  enjoy- 
shoulders, 
elf  of  my 
1  with  the 
jriatcc'  to 
brother 
eir  frater- 
lable,  and 
le  human 
thing  that 
ssy  would 
rtunity  of 
36  in  this 
ompletely 
3ad,  dealt 
)urself,  aa 
sir  home- 
but  were 
isappoint- 


ment.  It  was  impossible  to  stop  for  a  moment  to  examine  this 
most  interesting  portion  of  the  Exhibition ;  and  one  was  really 
glad  to  force  a  passage  out  of  the  press  into  the  free  air. 

Large  placards  were  pasted  about  in  the  most  conspicuous 
places,  warning  visitors  to  the  grounds  to  look  out  for  pick- 
pockv  ts !  Every  one  was  on  the  alert  to  discover  these  gentry — 
expect mg  them,  I  suppose,  to  be  classed  like  the  animal  and 
vegetable  productions  of  the  soil ;  and  the  vicinity  o^  a  knowing- 
looking,  long-bearded  pedlar,  who  was  selling  •*  Yankee  Notions" 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  always  surrounded  by  a  great  mob, 
was  considered  the  most  likely  locality  for  these  invisible  person- 
ages, who,  I  firmly  believe,  existed  alone  in  the  fancy  of  tlio 
authors  of  the  aforesaid  placards. 

There  was  a  very  fine  display  of  the  improved  and  foreign 
breeds  of  poultry ;  and  a  set  of  idle  Irish  loungers,  of  the  lower 
class,  were  amusing  themsei.es  by  inserting  the  bowls  of  their 
pipes  into  the  pens  that  contained  these  noble  fowls,  and  giving 
them  the  benefit  of  a  good  smoking.  The  intoxicating  effects 
of  the  fumes  of  the  tobacco  upon  the  poor  creatures  appeared  to 
aflford  their  tormentors  the  greatest  entertainment.  The  stately 
Cochin-China  cooks  shook  their  plumed  heads,  and  turned  up 
their  beaks  with  unmistakable  signs  of  annoyance  and  disgust ; 
and  two  fine  fowls  that  were  lying  dead  outside  the  pens,  were 
probably  killed  by  this  novel  sport. 

I  was  greatly  struck  by  the  appearance  of  Okah  Tubee,  tho 
celebrated  Indian  doctor,  who  was  certainly  tho  most  conspicu- 
ous-booking person  in  the  show,  and  on  a  less  public  occasion 
would  have  drawn  a  large  number  of  spectators  on  his  own 
hook. 

Okah  Tubee  is  a  broad,  stout,  powerfully  built  man,  with  a 
large  fat  face,  set  ofl:'  to  tlie  least  possible  advantage  by  round 
rings  of  braided  hair,  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  and  with  largo  gold 
car-rings  in  his  ears.  Now,  it  certainly  is  true  that  a  man  has  a 
perfect  right  to  dross  his  hair  in  this  fashion,  or  in  any  fashion 
he  pleases ;  but  a  more  absurd  appearance  tlian  the  blue  ribbons 
gave  to  his  broad,  brown,  beardless  face,  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine.    The  solemn  dignity,  too,  with  which  he  carried  off 


■1 


256 


LIFE    IN   THK    CLEARINGS. 


1^' 


this  tomfoolery  was  not  the  least  laughable  part  of  it.  I  wonder 
which  of  his  wives — for  I  was  told  he  had  several — braided  all 
these  small  rings  of  hair,  and  confined  them  with  the  blue  love 
knots ;  but  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  grave  Indian  per- 
formed his  own  toilet.  His  blue  surtout  and  beaver  i  it  accorded 
ill  with  his  Indian  leggings  and  moccasins.  I  must  think  that 
the  big  man's  dress  was  in  shocking  bad  taste  and  a  decided 
failure.  I  missed  the  sight  of  him  carrying  a  flag  in  the  pro- 
cession, and  mounted  on  horseback ;  if  his  riding-dress  matched 
his  walking  costume,  it  must  have  been  rich. 

Leaving  the  show-ground,  we  next  directed  our  steps  to  tho 
Ladies'  Bazaar,  that  was  held  in  the  government  buildings,  and 
here  we  found  a  number  of  well-dressed,  elegant  women,  sitting 
like  Mathew  at  the  receipt  of  custom ;  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
their  labors  of  love  received  an  ample  recompense,  and  that  tho 
sale  of  their  pretty  toys  completely  discharged  the  debt  that  had 
been  incurred  for  their  favorite  saint.  Nor  was  the  glory  of  old 
England  likely  to  be  forgotten  amid  such  a  display  of  national 
flags  as  adorned  the  spacious  apartment. 

THE  BANNER  OF  ENGLAND. 

"  The  banner  of  old  England  flowa 

Triumphant  in  the  breeze — 
A  Bign  of  terror  to  our  foes, 

The  meteor  of  the  seas. 
A  thousand  heroes  bore  it 

In  battle-fields  of  old ; 
All  nations  quail'd  before  it, 

Defended  by  the  bold. 

"  Brave  Edward  and  his  gallant  sons 
Beneath  its  shadow  bled  ; 

And  lion-hearted  Britons 
That  flag  to  glory  led.  • 

The  sword  of  kings  defended, 
When  hostile  foes  drew  near  ; 

The  sheet  whose  colors  bended- 
Memorials  proud  and  dear ! 


, 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLKAUINOS. 


26*7 


I  wondor 
■braided  all 
)  blue  love 
ndian  per- 
it  accorded 
think  that 
L  a  decided 
in  the  pre- 
ss matched 

:ep3  to  the 
ildings,  and 
aen,  sitting 
hoped  that 
ad  that  tho 
bt  that  had 
flory  of  old 
of  national 


"  The  hist'  y  of  a  nation 

Is  blazun'd  on  its  page, 
A  brief  and  bright  relation 

Sent  down  from  age  to  ago. 
O'er  Galha's  hosts  victorious, 

It  turn'd  their  pride  of  yore  , 
Its  fame  on  earth  is  glorious, 

E-enown'd  from  shore  to  shore. 

"  Tho  soldier's  heart  has  bounded 

When  o'er  the  tide  of  war ; 
Where  death's  brief  cry  resounded, 

It  flash'd  a  blazing  star. 
Or  floating  over  leaguer'd  wall, 

It  met  his  lifted  eye  ; 
Like  war-horse  to  the  trumpet's  call, 

He  rush'd  to  victory  I 

"  No  son  of  Briton  e'er  will  see 

A  foreign  band  advance, 
To  seize  the  standard  of  the  frco 

That  dared  tho  might  of  France. 
Bright  banner  of  our  native  land. 

Bold  hearts  are  knit  to  thee; 
A  hardy,  brave,  determined  band, 

Thy  champions  yet  shall  bo  !" 


258 


LIFE   IN    THE    CLRARINOS, 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


1^  Z 


"  Come  and  woi-Bhip  at  a  shrine, 
Rear'd  by  hands  eternal, 
Where  the  flasliing  waters  shine, 

And  the  turf  is  ever  vernal, 
And  nature's  everlasting  voice 
For  ever  cries — rtyoice,  rejoice  I" 


8.  M. 


The  night  had  heen  one  of  pouring  rain,  and  the  day  dawned 
througli  a  thick  veil  of  misty  clouds,  on  the  morning  of  which 
wo  Avero  to  start  from  Toronto  to  visit  the  Falls  of  Niagara. 

"  It  is  always  so,"  I  thought,  as  I  tried  to  peer  through  the 
dense  mist  that  floated  round  the  spire  of  St.  George's  church,  in 
order  to  reud  what  promise  there  might  lurk  behind  its  grey 
folds  of  a  fine  day.  "  What  we  most  wish  for  is,  for  some  wise 
purpose  inscrutable  to  our  narrow  vision,  generally  withheld, 
r.ut  it  may  clear  up,  after  all.  At  all  events,  we  must  bide  the 
o/iance  and  make  the  experiment." 

By  seven  o'clock,  we  were  on  board  the  "  Chief  Justice,"  one 
of  the  steamers  that  daily  ply  between  Toronto  and  Queenstone 
A  letter  that  I  got,  in  passing  the  post-office,  from  the  dear  chil- 
dren at  home,  diverted  my  thoughts  for  a  long  while  from  tho 
dull  sky  and  drizzling  rain ;  and  when  it  had  been  read  and 
re-read,  and  pondered  over  for  some  time,  and  God  inwardly 
thanked  for  the  aflfection  that  breathed  in  every  line,  and  tlio 
good  news  it  contained,  the  unpromising  mist  had  all  cleared 
away,  and  the  sun  was  casting  bright  silvery  gleams  across  tho 
broad  bosom  of  the  beautiful  Ontario. 

We  did  not  meet  with  a  solitary  adventure  on  our  very  plea- 


8.  M. 

y  dftwned 
of  which 
gara. 
rough  the 
hurch,  in 
I  its  grey 
loine  wise 
withheld, 
bide  the 

iice,"  ono 
eenstone 

ear  chil- 
fi'oin  tlio 
read  and 
inwardly 
,  and  the 

1  cleared 
cross  the 

ery  plea- 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEARINGS. 


259 


sant  voyage ;  the  deep  blue  autumnal  sky,  and  the  gently-undu- 
lating waters,  forming  the  chief  attraction,  and  giving  rise  to 
pleasant  trains  of  thought,  till  the  spirit  blended  and  harmonized 
with  the  grand  and  simple  elements  that  composed  the  scene. 

There  were  no  passengers  in  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  wo  never 
left  the  deck  of  the  steamer  until  she  came  to  her  wharf  at 
Queenstone. 

The  lake,  for  some  miles  before  you  reach  the  entrance  of  the 
Niagara  river,  assumes  a  yellowish-green  tint,  quite  different 
from  the  ordinary  deep  blue  of  its  waters.  This  is  probably 
owing  to  the  vast  quantity  of  soil  washed  down  by  the  raj)ids 
from  the  high  lands  above. 

The  captain  told  us  that,  after  a  storm  such  as  wo  experienced 
on  the  preceding  night,  this  ;'ppearauce,  though  it  always  ex- 
isted, was  more  apparent.  You  catch  a  distant  glance  of  the 
Falls  from  this  part  of  the  lake ;  but  it  is  only  in  the  shape  of  a 
light  silvery  cloud  hovering  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  Wo 
listened  in  vain  for  any  sound  to  give  us  an  indication  of  their 
near  vicinity.  The  voice  of  nature  was  mute.  The  roar  of  the 
great  cataract  was  not  distinguishable  at  that  distance. 

The  entrance  to  the  Niagara  r:  /er  is  very  intei-esting.  You 
pass  between  the  two  strong  stone  forts,  raised  for  the  protection 
of  their  respective  countries;  and  a  hostile  vessel  would  stand 
but  a  small  chance  of  keeping  clear  from  danger  in  passing  either 
Cerberus.  It  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  that  all  such  difficulties 
will  be  avoided,  by  the  opposite  shores  remcining  firm  friends 
and  allies. 

The  town  of  Niagara  is  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  looking  place, 
and  belongs  more  to  the  past  than  the  present  Canada ;  for  it 
has  not  made  much  progress  since  it  ceased  to  be  the  capital  of 
the  Upper  Province,  in  spite  of  its  very  advantageous  and  beau- 
tiful locality. 

As  you  approach  Queenstone,  the  river  is  much  contracted  in 
its  dimensions,  and  its  banks  assume  a  bold  and  lofty  appear- 
ance, till  they  frown  down  upon  the  waters  in  stern  and  solemn 
grandeur,  and  impart  a  wild  romantic  character  to  the  scene,  not 
often  found  in  the  Upper  Province. 


260 


LIFiS   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


I 


I  never  beheld  any  water  that  resembled  the  deep  green  of  the 
Niagara.  This  may  be  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  immense  depth 
of  the  river,  the  color  of  the  rooks  over  which  it  fl.vws,  or  it 
may  be  reflected  from  the  beautiful  trees  and  shrubs  that  clothe 
its  precipitous  banks ;  but  it  must  strike  every  person  who  first 
gazes  upon  it  as  very  remarkable.  You  cannot  look  down  into 
it;  for  it  is  not  pellucid  but  opaque  in  its  appearance,  and  runs 
with  a  smooth  surface  more  resembling  oil  than  water. 

The  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  are  a  pale  sea-green,  and  so 
transparently  cleai*  that  you  see  through  them  to  a  great  depth. 
At  sunrise  and  sunset,  they  take  all  the  hues  of  the  opal.  Tho 
Ottawa  is  a  deep  blue.  The  Otonabee  looks  black,  from  the  dark 
limestone  bed  over  which  it  foams  and  rushes.  Our  own  Moira 
is  of  a  'silvery  or  leaden  hue,  but  the  waters  of  the  Niagara  are 
a  bright  deep  green ;  and  did  any  painter  venture  tc  transfer 
their  singular  color  to  his  canvas,  it  would  be  considered  extra- 
vagant and  impossibb. 

The  new  Suspension  Bridge  at  Queenstone  is  a  beautiful  object 
from  the  water.  Tho  river  hero  is  six  hundred  feet  in  width ; 
the  space  between  the  two  stone  to.rors  that  support  tho  bridge 
on  either  shore  is  eight  hundred  and  fifty  feet ;  the  height  above 
tho  water,  two  hundred  feet.  The  towers  are  not  built  on  the 
top  of  tho  bank,  but  a  platform  for  each  has  been  quarried  out  of 
the  steep  sides  of  the  precipice,  about  thirty  feet  below  the  cdgo 
of  the  clifis.  The  road  that  leads  up  from  the  Queenstone  ferry 
has  been  formed  by  the  same  process.  It  is  a  perilous  ascent, 
and  hangs  almost  over  tho  river;  nor  is  there  any  sufficient 
barrier  to  prevent  a  skittish  horse  from  plunging  from  the  giddy 
height  into  the  deep,  swift  stream  below,  I  should  not  like  to 
travel  this  romantic  road  of  a  dark  October  night,  even  on  foot. 
The  Queenstpno  cab-drivers  rattle  up  and  down  this  fearful  path 
witliout  paying  ttie  least  regard  to  the  nerves  of  their  passengers. 
At  tho  entrance  to  the  bridge,  a  space  is  quarried  out  of  tho 
bank  to  allow  heavy  teams  to  turn  on  to  the  bridge,  which  is 
done  with  the  greatest  ease  and  safety. 

Several  heavy  loaded  teams  were  crossing  from  the  other  side, 
and  it  was  curious  to  watch  tho  horses,  -svhen  they  felt  the 


een  of  the 
ase  depth 
..ws,  or  it 
hat  clothe 
I  who  first 
lown  into 
,  and  runs 

• 

an,  and  so 
eat  depth. 
)pal.  The 
a  the  dark 
)wn  Moira 
[iagara  are 
:o  transfer 
srsd  extra- 

tiful  ohject 

in  width; 

the  bridge 

ight  above 

uilt  on  the 

•ied  out  of 

V  the  edge 

tone  ferry 

us  ascent, 

suflBcient 

the  giddy 

lot  like  to 

n  ou  foot. 

arful  path 

assengers. 

ut  of  the 

which  is 

>ther  side, 
felt  the 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


261 


vibratory  motion,  draw  back  clbse  to  the  vehicles,  and  take  high, 
short  steps,  as  if  they  apprehended  some  unknown  danger.  It 
is  surprising  how  well  they  behave  ou  this  trying  occasion,  for  a 
horse,  though  a  very  brave  animal,  is  one  of  the  most  nervous 
ones  in  creation 

These  beauti.  ul,  airy-looking  structures,  are  a  great  triumph 
of  mechanical  ait  over  a  barrier  wliich  had  long  been  considered 
as  insurmountable,  except  by  water.  The  ready  mode  of  com- 
munication which  by  their  means  has  been  established  between 
the  opposite  shores,  must  prove  of  incalculable  advantage  to  this 
part  of  the  colony. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  similar  bridges  will  soon  span  the  many 
rapid  rivers  in  Canada.  A  sudden  spring  thaw  gives  such 
volume  and  power  to  most  of  the  streams,  that  few  bridges  con- 
structed on  the  old  plan  are  long  able  to  resist  the  impetuosity 
of  the  current,  but  are  constantly  liable  to  be  cairied  away, 
occasioning  great  daraa^^e  in  their  vicinity. 

The  Suspension  Bridge,  by  being  raised  above  the  possible 
action  of  the  water,  is  liable  to  none  of  the  casualties  that 
operate  against  the  old  bridge,  whose  piers  and  arches,  though 
formed  of  solid  masonry,  are  not  proof  against  the  powerful 
battering-rams  formed  by  huge  blocks  of  ice  and  heavy  logs  of 
wood,  aided  by  the  violent  opposing  force  of  the  current. 

The  light  and  graceful  proportions  of  the  Suspension  Bridge 
add  a  great  charm  to  the  beauty  of  this  charming  landscape.  It 
is  well  worth  paying  a  visit  to  Niagara,  if  it  possessed  no  object 
of  greater  interest  in  its  neighbourhood  than  these  wonderful 
structures. 

The  village  of  Queenstone  is  built  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  is 
a  very  pretty  toil  antic-looking  place.  Numerous  springs  wind 
like  silvery  threads  along  the  face  of  the  steep  bank  above ;  and 
and  wherever  the  waters  find  a  flat  ledge  in  their  downward 
course,  water-cresses  of  the  finest  quality  grow  in  abundance,  the 
sparkling  water  gurgling  among  their  juicy  leaves,  and  washing 
them  to  emerald  brightness.  Large  portions  of  the  cliff  are 
literally  covered  with  them.  It  was  no  small  matter  of  surprise 
to  me  when  told  that  the  inhabitants  madf  no  use  of  this  delicious 


262 


LIFB   IN   THE   OLEARINQB. 


plan,  but  laugh  at  the  eagerness  with  which  strangers  seek  it 
ont. 

The  Queenstono  Heights,  to  the  east  of  tlie  village,  are  a  lofty 
ridge  of  land  rising  three  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
country  below.  They  are  quite  as  precipitous  as  the  banks  of 
the  river.  The  railroad  winds  along  the  face  of  tLis  raagTaificeut 
bank.  Gigantic  trees  tower  far  above  your  head,  and  a  beautiful 
fertile  country  lies  extended  at  your  feet.  There,  between  its 
rugged  banks,  winds  the  glorious  river;  and,  beyond  "y^nt  end 
plr.ln,  gljft«  8  ho  Ontario  against  the  Lorizon,  like  a  mimic 
oci  T.',,  1  ivjsd.L'^  ts  blue  waters  »vith  the  azure  ocean  of  heaven. 
Trii  y  i.t  hi  magnificent  scene,  and  associated  with  the  most 
iuucrfy'M^g  isL'^cical  events  connected  with  the  province. 

Brock's  rnoL.  .ai.  nt,  which  you  pass  on  tlie  road,  is  a  melan- 
choly looking  niin,  but  by  no  means  a  picturesque  one,  resembling 
Bomo  tall  chimney  that  has  been  left  standing  after  the  house  to 
whicli  it  belonged  had  been  burnt  down. 

Some  time  ago  subscriptions  were  set  on  foot  to  collect  money 
to  rebuild  this  monument ;  but  the  rock  on  which  it  stands  is, 
after  all,  a  more  enduring  monument  to  the  memory  of  the  hero, 
tliau  any  perishable  structure  raised  to  commemorate  the  despe- 
rate struggle  that  terminated  on  this  spot.  As  long  as  the  heights 
of  Queenstone  remain,  and  the  river  pours  its  swift  current 
to  mingle  with  the  Ontario,  the  name  of  General  Brock  will  bo 
associated  with  the  scene.  The  noblest  tablet  on  which  tho 
deeds  of  a  great  man  can  bo  engraved,  is  on  the  heart  of  his 
grateful  country. 

Were  a  new  monument  erected  on  this  spot  to-morrow,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  it  would  share  tho  fate  of  its  predeces- 
sor, and  some  patriotic  American  would  consider  it  an  act  of 
duty  to  the  great  Republic  to  dash  it  ont  of  creation. 

From  Queenstono  we  took  a  carriage  on  to  Niagara,  a  distance 
of  about  eight  miles,  over  good  roads,  and  through  a  pleasant, 
smiling  tract  of  country.  This  part  of  the  province  might  justly 
be  termed  the  garden  of  Canada,  and  partakes  more  of  tho  soft 
and  rich  character  of  English  scenery. 

The  ground  rises  and  falls  in  gentle  slopes ;  tho  fine  meadows, 


LIFB   IN    THE   CLBARIN08. 


263 


irs  seek  it 

are  a  lofty 
vel  of  the 

banks  of 
lafTiificeut 
I  beautiful 
Btveen  its 
"Tv^st  c  ad 

a  mimic 
)f  heaven. 

the  most 
ice. 

3  a  melan- 
•esembling 
e  house  to 

Bct  money 
stands  is, 
■  the  hero, 
the  despe- 
he  heights 
ft  current 
;k  will  be 
Wiich  the 
art  of  his 

TOW,  it  is 
predeces- 
m  act  of 

I  distance 
pleasant, 
;ht  justly 
f  tho  soft 

neadows, 


entirely  freo  from  the  odious  Mack  stamps,  are  adorned  with 
groups  of  noble  chestnut  and  black  walnut  trees ;  and  the  peach 
aad  apple  orchards  in  full  bearing,  clustering  around  the  neat 
horae3';eads,  give  to  then  an  appearance  of  wealth  and  comfort, 
which  cannot  exist  for  many  years  to  come  in  more  remote 
districts. 

The  air  on  these  high  table  lands  is  very  pure  and  elastic ;  and 
I  could  not  heli  wishing  for  some  good  fairy  to  remove  my  little 
cott'  ^e  into  one  of  the  fair  enclosures  we  pa.ssed  continually  by 
the  roadside,  and  place  it  beneath  the  shade  of  some  of  the 
beautiful  trees  that  adorned  every  field. 

Here,  for  the  first  time  in  Canada,  I  observed  hedges  of  tho 
Canadian  thorn — a  great  improvement  on  tho  old  snake  fence  of 
rough  split  timber  which  prevails  all  through  ther  'nv.  What 
a  difierence  it  would  make  in  the  aspect  of  the  c>  "m'  if  these 
green  hedgerows  were  in  general  use  I  It  wou^  taL  i  om  the 
savage  barrenness  given  to  it  by  these  croo^'  d  •  "ooUen  lines 
that  cross  and  recross  the  country  in  all  directions  j  object  can 
be  less  picturesque,  or  more  unpleasing  to  i\n.  ■  ve.  A  new  clear- 
ing reminds  one  of  a  large  turnip  field,  divic  'j-  hurdles  into 
different  compartments  for  the  feeding  of  sheep  and  cattle.  Often, 
for  raiies  on  a  stretch,  there  is  scarcely  a  tree  or  bush  to  relieve 
the  blank  monotony  of  these  ugly,  uncouth  partitions  of  land, 
beyond  charred  stumps  and  rank  weeds,  and  the  uniform  belt  of 
forest  at  the  back  of  the  new  fields. 

The  Canadian  cuts  down,  but  rar  ;ly  plants  trees,  which  cir- 
cumstance accounts  for  the  blank  loo'c  of  dot>olation  that  pervades 
all  new  settlements.  A  few  young  maples  and  rock  elms,  planted 
along  the  roadsides,  would,  at  a  very  small  expense  of  labour,  in 
a  very  few  years  remedy  this  ugly  feature  in  the  Canadian  land- 
scape, and  afford  a  grateful  shade  to  the  weary  traveller  from 
the  scorching  heat  of  the  summer  sun. 

In  old  countries,  where  landed  property  often  remains  for  ages 
in  the  same  family,  the  present  occupant  i)lants  and  improves  for 
future  generations,  hoping  that  his  sons'  sons  may  enjoy  the  fruit 
of  his  labors.  But  in  a  new  country  like  this,  where  property 
is  constantly  changing  ownerb,  no  one  seems  to  think  it  worth 


264 


LIFE    IN    THE    OLEARINOS. 


f 


their  while  to  take  any  trouble  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  a  i)laco 
for  the  benefit  of  strangers. 

Most  of  our  second  growth  of  trees  have  been  planted  by  tho 
])cautiful  hand  of  nature,  who,  in  laying  out  her  cunning  work, 
generally  does  it  in  tho  most  advantageous  manner ;  and  chunco 
or  accident  has  suftered  tho  trees  to  rotnain  on  tho  spot  from 
whence  they  sprung. 

Trees  that  grow  in  open  spaces  after  the  forest  has  been  cleared 
away,  are  as  graceful  and  umbrageous  as  those  planted  in  parks 
at  home.  The  forest  trees  seldom  possess  any  great  beauty  of 
outline ;  they  run  all  to  top,  and  throw  out  few  lateral  branches. 
There  is  not  a  tree  in  tho  woods  that  could  aflbrd  tho  least  slielter 
during  a  smart  shower  of  rain.  They  are  so  closely  packed  to- 
gether in  these  dense  forests,  that  a  very  small  amount  of  foliage, 
for  the  size  and  length  of  tho  trunk,  is  to  be  found  on  any  indi- 
vidual tree.  One  wood  is  tho  exact  picture  of  another ;  the  uni- 
formity dreary  in  the  extreme.  There  are  no  green  vistas  to  be 
seen ;  no  grassy  glades  beneath  the  bosky  oajcs,  on  which  tho 
deer  browse,  and  the  gigantic  shadows  sleep  in  the  sunbeams. 
A  stern  array  of  rugged  trunks,  a  tangled  maze  of  scrubby  under- 
brush, carpeted,  winter  and  summer,  with  a  thick  layer  of 
withered  buff  leaves,  form  tho  general  features  of  a  Canadian 
forest. 

A  few  flowers  force  their  heads  through  this  thick  covering  of 
leaves,  and  make  glad  with  their  beauty  the  desolate  wilderness: 
but  those  who  look  for  au  Arcadia  of  fruita  and  flowers  in  tho 
backwoods  of  Canada  cannot  fdl  of  disappointment.  Some  local- 
ities, it  is  true,  are  more  favored  than  others,  especially  those 
sandy  tracts  of  table  land  that  are  called  plains  in  this  country ; 
tho  trees  are  more  scattered,  and  the  ground  receives  the  benefit 
of  light  and  sunshine. 

Flower  J — those  precious  gifts  of  God — do  not  delight  in  dark- 
ness and  shade,  and  this  is  one  great  reason  why  they  are  so 
scarce  iu  the  woods.  I  saw  more  beautiful  blossor^s  waving 
above  the  Niagara  i-iver,  from  every  crevice  iu  its  rocky  banks, 
than  I  ever  beheld  during  my  long  residence  in  tho  bush.  Theso 
lovely  children  of  light  seem  peculiarly  to  rejoice  in  their  near 


LIFE    IN    TUU    CLSARINOH. 


205 


f'  of  a  place 

ited  by  tlio 
ning  work, 
and  chanco 
)  spot  from 

oen  cleared 
id  in  parks 
;  beauty  of 
1  branches, 
jast  shelter 
packed  to- 
;  of  folingc, 
1  any  indi- 
;  the  uni- 
istas  to  be 
which  the 
sunbeams. 
>by  under- 
c  layer  of 
>  Canadian 

overing  of 
ilderness: 
ers  in  the 
oine  local- 
ally  those 
country ; 
be  benefit 

fe  in  dark- 
ey are  so 
s  waving 
ky  banks, 
1.  These 
heir  near 


I 

I 


vicinity  to  water,  the  open  space  allowed  to  the  wide  rivers 
nllurding  thom  the  air  and  simshino  denied  to  them  iu  the  cIoho 
atiiKKsphero  of  the  dense  woods. 

The  lirst  sight  we  caught  of  the  Fulls  of  Niagara  was  from  the 
top  of  tho  hill  that  leads  directly  into  the  village.  I  had  been 
intently  examining  the  rare  slirubs  and  beautiful  flowers  that 
grew  in  an  exquisite  garden  surrounding  a  very  fine  mansion  on 
my  right  hand,  perfectly  astonished  at  their  luxuriance,  and  the 
emerald  groenuess  of  the  turf  at  that  season,  v,  Jiich  had  been  one 
of  unprecedented  drought,  when,  on  raising  my  head,  tho  groat 
cataract  burst  on  my  sight  without  any  intervening  screen,  pro- 
ducing an  overwhelming  sensation  in  my  mind  which  amounted 
to  pain  in  its  intensity. 

Yea,  the  great  object  of  ray  journey — one  of  the  fondest  anti- 
cipations of  my  life — watj  at  length  accomi)lished ;  and  for  a 
moment  the  blood  recoiled  back  to  my  heart,  and  a  tremulous 
thrill  ran  through  my  whole  frame.  I  was  so  bewildered — so 
taken  by  surprise — that  every  feeling  was  absorbed  in  the  one 
c-onsciousnoss,  that  the  sublime  vision  was  before  mo ;  that  I  had 
at  last  seen  Niagara;  that  it  was  mine  for  ever,  stereotyped 
upon  my  heart  by  the  unerring  hand  of  nature,  producing  an  im- 
l)ression  which  nothing  but  madness  or  idiotcy  could  efface  I 

It  was  some  seconds  before  I  could  collect  my  thoughts,  or 
concentrate  my  attention  sulficiently  to  identify  one  of  its  gigan- 
tic features.  Tlie  eye  crowds  all  into  the  one  glance,  and  tho 
eager  mind  is  too  much  dazzled  and  intoxicated  for  minor  details. 
Astonishment  and  admiration  are  succeeded  by  curious  exami- 
nation and  enjoyment ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  realise  this  at  first. 
The  tumultuous  rush  of  feeling,  tho  excitement  occasioned  by  the 
grand  spectacle,  must  subside  before  you  can  draw  a  free  breath, 
and  have  time  for  thought. 

The  Amer.'can  Fall  was  directly  opposite,  resembling  a  vast 
rolling  cylinder  of  light  flashing  through  clouds  of  silvery  mist, 
and  casting  from  it  long  rays  of  indescribable  brightness.  I  never 
could  realise,  in  this  perfect  image  of  a  living  and  perpetual  mo- 
tion, a  fall  of  waters ;  it  always  had,  to  my  eyes,  this  majestic, 
solemn,  rotatory  movement,  when  seen  from  the  bank  above. 

12 


I 


200 


LIFB   IN    THU   CLEARINOe, 


■t 


The  riorso-shoo  Fall  Is  further  ou  to  tho  right,  and  yon  only  get 
a  side  view  of  it  from  this  point. 

Tho  Fulls  aro  Hoon  to  the  least  posdiblo  advantage  from  the  brow 
of  tho  steep  bank.  In  looking  down  upon  them,  you  cun  form 
no  adequate  idea  of  their  volume,  height,  and  grandeur ;  yet  that 
first  glance  can  never  bo  effaced.  You  feel  a  thrilling,  triumph- 
ant joy,  whilst  contemplating  this  master-piece  of  nature — 
this  subUme  idea  of  the  Eternal — this  wonderful  symbol  of  tho 
power  and  strength  of  tho  divine  Architect  of  tho  universe. 

It  is  as  if  the  great  heart  of  nature  were  laid  bare  before  you, 
and  you  saw  and  heard  all  its  gigantic  tlirobbings,  and  watched 
the  current  of  its  stupendous  life  flowing  perpetually  forward. 

I  cannot  imagine  how  any  one  could  be  disappointed  in  this 
august  scene ;  and  tho  singular  indifference  manifested  by  others ; 
it  is  either  a  miserable  aflectation  of  singularity,  or  a  hunentablo 
want  of  sensibility  to  tho  grand  and  beautiful.  Tho  human 
being  who  could  stand  unmoved  before  the  great  cataract,  and 
fool  no  quickening  of  tho  pulse,  no  silent  adoration  of  the  heart 
towflrds  tho  Creator  of  this  wondrous  scene,  would  remain  as 
indifferent  and  as  uninspired  before  tho  throne  of  God  1 

Throwing  out  of  the  question  tho  romantic  locality — the 
rugged  wooded  banks,  tho  vast  blocks  of  stono  scattered  at  tlie 
edge  of  the  torrent,  the  magic  color  of  the  waters,  tho  over- 
hanging crags,  tho  wild  flowers  waving  from  the  steep,  the  glo- 
rious hues  of  tho  ever-changing  rainbow  that  spans  tlie  river, 
and  that  soft  cloud  of  silvery  brightness  for  ever  Uowing 
upward  into  the  clear  air,  like  the  prayer  of  faith  ascending 
from  earth  to  heaven — tho  enormous  magnitude  of  the  waters 
alone,  their  curbless  power,  and  eternal  motion,  are  suflicicnt  to 
give  rise  to  feelings  of  astonish  mo  ut  and  admiration  such  as 
never  wore  experienced  before. 

Not  the  least  of  these  sensations  is  crcaced  by  the  deep  roar  of 
tho  falling  torrent,  tliat  shakes  the  solid  rocks  beneath  your  feet, 
and  is  repeated  by  the  thousand  hidden  echoes  among  those  stern 
craggy  heights. 

It  is  impossible  for  language  to  convoy  any  adequate  idea  of 
tlio  grandeur  of  the  Falls,  when  seen  from  below,  either  from 


LIFE    IN   TUB    CLRAHINOB. 


207 


only  get 

tlib  brow 
cmi  form 

yot  that 
triuiiipli- 
naturo — 
A  of  tlio 
rHo. 

ore  you, 
watclied 
ward. 

ill  this 

others ; 
lentablo 

huruan 
act,  and 
le  heart 
niaiti  as 

ty— the 
1  at  the 
10  over- 
the  glo- 
B  river, 
llovving 
3ondijig 
waters 
)ient  to 
lucli  as 

•oar  of 
iir  feet, 
0  stern 

loa  of 
r  from 


tho  dock  of  the  ''Maid  of  the  Mif^t " — tlio  small  sloamer  that 
approunhes  within  a  few  yard.s  of  t!iw  d^'scunding  nhoet  of  tho 
IIorso-Mhoo  Fulls — or  from  tho  ferry  boat  th.it  plieH  continiiiiUy 
between  tho  opposite  Hliorua.  From  tho  frail  little  boat,  dancing 
like  a  feather  upon  tho  green  swelling  »nrge^<,  you  perhaps  form 
tho  best  notion  of  the  vastness  and  magnitude  of  tho  descend- 
ing waters,  and  of  your  own  helplessness  and  insigniHcfinco. 
They  flow  down  uinm  your  vision  like  moving  mountains  of 
light;  and  tho  shadowy  outline  of  black  mysterious-looking 
rocks,  dimly  aeon  through  clouds  of  driving  mist,  adds  a  wild 
Kul)limity  to  tho  scene.  While  tho  boat  struggles  over  tho  curl- 
ing billows,  at  times  lifted  up  by  tho  ground-swells  from  below, 
tho  feeling  of  danger  and  insecurity  is  lost  in  tho  whirl  of  waters 
that  surround  you.  Tho  mind  expands  with  tho  scene,  and  you 
rejoice  in  tho  terrific  power  that  threatens  to  annihilate  you 
and  your  fairy  bark.  A  visible  presence  of  tho  miyesty  of  God 
is  before  you,  and,  sheltered  by  His  protecting  hand,  you  behold 
tho  glorious  spectacle  and  live. 

Tho  dark  forests  of  pino  that  form  tho  background  to  tho 
Falls,  when  soon  from  above,  arc  entirely  lost  from  tho  surface  of 
the  river,  and  tho  descending  floods  seem  to  pour  down  upon  you 
from  the  skios. 

The  day  had  turned  out  as  beautiful  as  heart  could  wish ;  and 
though  I  felt  verj'  much  fatigued  with  tho  journey,  I  determined 
to  sot  all  aches  and  pains  at  defiance  •whilst  I  remained  on  this 
enchanted  ground. 

'  "We  had  just  time  enough  to  spare  before  dinner  to  walk  to 
tho  table  rock,  following  tho  road  along  tho  brow  of  tho  steep 
bank.  On  tho  way  wo  called  in  at  tho  Curiosity  Slioi),  kept  by 
an  old  grey-haired  nuin,  avIio  had  made  for  himself  a  snug  little 
California  by  turning  all  he  touched  into  gold  ;  his  stock-in-trade 
consisting  of  geological  specimens  from  tho  vicinity  of  the  Falls 
— pebbles,  plants,  stuffed  birds,  beasts,  and  sticks  cut  from  the 
I.  nber  that  grows  along  the  rocky  banks,  and  twisted  into  every 
imiiginablo  shape.  Tho  heads  of  these  canes  were  dexterously 
car\  d  to  imitate  snakes,  snapping  turtles,  eagles'  heads,  and 
Indian  faces.    Uero,  tlio  fantastic  ends  of  the  roots  of  jiinubs 


268 


LIFE   IN    THE   CLEAKINOB. 


from  which  they  wore  made  .Tore  cut  into  a  grotesque  triumvi- 
rate of  legs  and  feet ;  hero  a  black  snake,  spotted  and  colored  to 
represent  the  horrid  reptile,  made  you  fancy  its  ugly  coils 
already  twisting  in  abhorrent  folds  about  your  hands  and  arms- 
There  was  no  end  to  the  i>ld  man's  imaginative  freaks  in  this 
d'^nru'tment,  his  wares  bearing  a  proportionate  price  to  the  dig- 
nity of  the  location  from  whicli  tliey  were  derived. 

A  vrst  amount  of  Indian  toys,  and  articles  of  dress,  made  tho 
museum  quite  gay  with  their  tawdry  ornaments  of  beads  and 
feathers.  It  Is  a  pleasant  lounging  place,  and  tho  old  man  forms 
one  of  its  chief  attractions. 

Proceeding  on  to  the  table  rock,  we  passed  many  beautiful 
gardens,  all  bearing  the  same  rich  tint  of  verdure,  and  glowing 
with  fruit  and  flowers.  The  show^jrs  of  spray,  rising  from  tho 
vast  natural  fountain  in  their  neighborhood,  fill  the  air  with  cool 
and  refreshing  moisture,  which  waters  these  lovely  gardens,  as 
the  mists  did  of  yore  that  went  up  from  tho  face  of  tho  earth  to 
Avater  the  garden  of  Eden. 

The  Ilorse-shoe  Fall  is  much  lower  than  its  twin  cataract  on 
the  American  side ;  but  what  it  loses  in  height,  it  makes  up  in 
l)ower  and  volume,  and  the  amount  of  water  tliat  is  constantly 
discharged  over  it.  As  wo  approached  the  table  rock,  a  rainbuAv 
of  Kplendid  dyes  spanned  the  river;  rising  from  out  tho  driving 
mist  from  the  American  ^^^all,  until  it  melted  into  tho  leaping 
snowy  foam  of  the  great  Canadian  cataract.  There  is  a  strange 
bleiuling,  in  this  scene,  of  beauty  and  softness  Avith  the  "  .ignifi- 
cent  ajid  tho  sublime  :  a  deep  sonorous  music  in  tho  thundering 
of  the  mighty  Hoods,  as  if  the  s'.irits  of  earth  and  air  united  in 
one  solemn  choral  chant  of  praise  to  the  Creator;  the  rocks 
vibrate  to  the  living  harmony,  and  the  shores  around  seem  hur- 
rying forward,  as  if  impelled  by  tho  force  of  the  dcs<tendin^' 
torrent  of  sound.  Yet,  within  a  few  yards  of  all  this  whirlpool 
of  conflicting  elemonts,  tho  river  glides  onward  as  peaccfnlly  and 
gently  as  if  it  had  not  received  into  its  mysterious  depths  this 
ever-falling  avalanche  of  foaming  waters. 

Here  you  enjoy  a  splendid  view  of  the  Rapids.  Raising  your 
eyes  from  tho  green,  glassy  edge  of  tho  Falls,  you  see  tho  mad 


LIFE    IV    THIS    CKARINOS. 


269 


e  triamvi- 
colored  to 
ugly  coils 
and  arms' 
ks  in  this 
to  tho  dig- 

mado  tho 
)eads  and 
nail  forms 

'f  beautiful 
id  glowing 
from  tho 
with  cool 
ardoiis,  as 
0  earth  to 

ataract  on 
akes  up  iu 
constantly 
a  raiiibuAv 
ho  driviiijr 
10  leaping 

a  strange 
0  "  .ignifi- 
inndering 

united  in 
the  rocks 
<eeni  hur- 
o.s<!ending 
\vhirlj)ool 
jfully  and 
pths  this 

iing  yonr 
tho  mad 


hubbub  of  boiling  waves  rushing  with  headlong  fury  down  tho 
watery  steep,  to  take  their  final  jdunge  into  the  mist-covered 
abyss  below.  On,  on  they  come — that  white-crested  phalanx 
of  waves — pouring  and  crowding  upon  each  other  in  frantic 
chase  I 

"  Things  of  life,  and  light,  and  mo  Jon, 
Spirits  of  the  unfathom'd  ocean, 
Hurrying  on  with  curblcss  force. 
Like  some  rash  unbridled  horse; 
High  in  air  tlieir  white  crests  flinging, 
And  madly  to  destruction  springing." 

These  boiling  breakers  seem  to  shout  and  rovol  iu  a  wild 
ecstasy  of  freedom  and  power  ;  and  you  feel  inclined  to  echo 
their  shout,  and  rejoice  with  them.  Yet  it  is  curious  to  mark 
how  they  slacken  their  mad  speed  when  they  reach  tho  ledge  of 
tho  fall,  and  melt  into  the  icy  smoothness  of  its  polished  brow, 
as  if  conscious  of  the  superior  force  that  is  destined  to  annihiluto 
their  identity,  and  dash  them  into  mist  and  spray.  In  like  man- 
ner the  waves  of  life  are  hurried  into  tho  abyss  of  death,  and 
absorbed  iu  tho  vast  ocean  of  eternity. 

Niagara  would  be  shorn  of  half  its  wonders  divested  of  these 
glorious  Rapids,  which  form  one  of  the  grandest  features  in  tho 
magnificent  scene. 

AVo  returned  to  our  inn,  the  Clifton  House,  just  in  timo  to 
save  our  dinner :  having  taken  breakfast  in  Toronto  at  half-past 
six,  wo  were  quite  ready  to  obey  the  noisy  summons  of  the  bell, 
and  follow  our  sable  guide  into  tho  eating  room. 

The  Clifton  House  is  a  largo,  handsome  building,  directly 
fronting  tho  Falls.  It  is  fitted  up  in  a  very  superior  style,  and 
contains  ample  accomodations  for  a  great  number  of  visitors. 
It  had  been  very  full  during  the  summer  months,  but  a  great 
many  persons  had  loi't  dtwing  the  preceding  week,  which  I  con- 
sidered a  very  fortun  ite  circumstance  for  those  who,  like  myself, 
came  to  see  instead  ot  to  be  seen. 

Tho  charges  for  a  Canadian  hotel  are  high ;  but  of  course  you 
arc  expected  to  pay  something  extra  at  a  place  of  such  general 


270 


IIFK    IN   THE   CLKARINQS. 


resort,  and  fc  the  grand  s^iow  of  the  Falls,  whi:^!!  can  bo  enjoyed 
at  any  moment  by  stepping  into  the  handsome  balcony  into 
which  the  saloon  opens,  and  which  runs  the  whole  length  of  the 
side  and  front  of  the  house.  The  former  commands  a  full  view 
of  the  American,  the  latter  of  the  Ilorse-shoe  Fall ;  and  the  high 
French  windows  of  this  elegantly  furnished  apartment  give  you 
the  opportunity  of  enjoying  both. 

You  pay  four  dollars  a-day  for  your  board  and  bed ;  this  does 
not  include  wino,  and  every  little  extra  is  an  additional  charge. 
Children  and  servants  are  rated  at  half-price,  and  a  baby  is 
charged  a  dollar  a-day.  This  item  in  the  family  programme  is 
something  new  in  the  bill  of  charges  at  an  hotel  in  this  country ; 
for  tliese  small  gentry,  though  they  give  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
to  their  lawful  owners,  are  always  entertained  gratis  at  inns  and 
on  board  steamboats. 

The  room  in  which  dinner  was  served  could  have  accomodated 
with  ease  treble  the  number  of  guests.  A  large  party,  chiefly 
Americans,  sat  down  to  table.  The  dishes  are  not  served  on 
the  table ;  a  bill  of  faro  is  laid  by  every  plate,  and  you  call  for 
what  you  please. 

This  arrangement,  which  saves  a  deal  of  trouble,  seemed  very 
distasteful  to  a  gentleman  near  us,  to  whom  the  sight  of  good 
cheer  must  have  been  almost  as  pleasant  as  eating  it,  for  he  mut- 
tered half-aloud — "that  he  hated  these  new-fangled  ways; 
that  ho  liked  to  see  what  ho  was  going  to  cat ;  that  he  did  not 
choose  to  be  put  off  with  kickshaws ;  that  he  did  not  understand 
the  French  names  for  dishes.  Ho  was  not  French,  and  he 
thought  that  they  might  be  written  in  plain  English." 

I  wi:s  very  much  of  the  same  opinion,  and  found  myself  nearly 
in  the  same  predicament  with  the  grumbler  at  my  left  hand ;  but 
I  did  not  betray  my  ignorance  by  venturing  a  remark.  This 
brought  forcibly  to  my  mind  a  story  that  had  recently  been  told 
me  by  a  dear  primitive  old  lady,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  first 
Dutch  settlers  in  the  Upper  Province,  over  which  I  had  laughed 
very  heartily  at  the  time ;  and  now  it  served  as  an  illustration 
of  my  own  case. 

"You  know,  my  dear,"  said  old  Mrs.  0 ,  "that  I  went 


, 


I 


LIFE    IN    the:    CmAUtNOR. 


211 


0  enjoyed 
3ony  into 
?th  of  the 
full  view 
the  high 
give  you 

this  does 
il  chftrge. 
I  baby  is 
;raniine  is 

country ; 
f  tronblo 

inns  and 

)modated 
y,  chiefly 
[erved  on 
I  call  for 

nied  very 
of  good 
'  he  rnnt- 
d  ways; 
3  did  not 
derstand 
and  he 

If  nearly 
ind ;  but 
c.  This 
een  told 
the  first 
laughed 
stration 

1  went 


lately  to  New  York  to  visit  u  nephew  of  m'.no,  whom  I  Lad  not 
seen  from  a  boy.  Well,  ho  has  grown  a  very  great  man  since 
tljoso  days,  and  is  now  one  of  the  wealthiest  merchants  iu  the 
city.  I  never  had  been  inside  such  a  grandly  furnished  house 
before.  Wo  know  nothing  of  the  great  world  in  Canada,  or  how 
the  rich  people  live  in  such  a  place  as  New  York.  Ours  are  all 
bread  and  butter  doings  when  compared  with  their  grand  fixings. 
I  saw  and  heard  a  great  many  things,  such  as  I  never  dreamed 
of  before,  and  which  for  the  life  of  mo  I  could  not  understand  ; 
but  I  never  let  on. 

"  One  morning,  at  luncheon,  my  nephew  says  to  mo,  '  Aunty 

C ,  you  have  never  tasted  our  Now  York  cider ;  I  will  order 

up  some  on  purpose  to  see  liow  you  like  it.' 

"  The  servant  b''ought  up  several  long-necked  bottles  on  a 
real  silver  tray,  and  placed  them  on  the  table.  'Good  Lord!' 
tliinks  I,  '  these  are  queer  looking  cider  bottles.  P'raps  it's 
champagne,  and  ho  wants  to  get  up  a  laugh  against  mo  before 
all  these  strange  pooi)le.'  I  had  never  seen  or  tasted  champagne 
iu  all  my  life,  though  there's  lots  of  it  sold  in  Canada,  and  our 
head  folks  give  champagne  breakfasts,  and  dinners  ;  but  I  had 
heard  how  it  acted,  and  how,  when  you  drew  the  corks  from 
the  bottles,  they  went  pop — pop.  So  I  just  listened  a  bit,  and 
lield  my  tongue;  and  the  first  bounce  it  gave,  I  cried  out,  'Mr. 

K ,  you  may  cnll  that  cider  In  Now  York,  but  wo  call  it 

champagne  in  Canada !' 

"'Do  you  get  champagne  in  Canada,  Aunty?'  says  ho, 
stopping  and  looking  mo  straight  in  the  face. 

"'Oh,  don't  we?'  says  I;  'and  it's  a  great  deal  better  than 
your  Ncic  York  cidtr.'' 

"  lie  looked  mortilieil,  I  tell  you,  and  the  company  all  laughed ; 
and  I  drank  off  my  glasis  of  champagne  as  bold  as  you  please,  as 
if  I  had  been  used  to  it  all  my  life.  When  you  are  away  from 
home,  and  find  yoursielf  ignorant  of  a  thing  or  two,  never  lot 
others  into  the  secret.  Watch  and  wait,  and  you'll  find  it  out 
by  and  by." 

Net  liaving  been  used  to  French  dishes  during  my  long 
styourn  in  Canada,  I  was  glad  to  take  the  old  lady's  advice,  and 


272 


I.IFK    IN    THE    CM'URINOS. 


mnko  use  of   my  eyes  ami  ears   before  I  ordered    my  own 
supplies. 

It  would  have  done  Mrs.  Stowo's  heart  good  to  have  seen  the 
fine  corps  of  well-dressed  negro  waiters  who  served  the  tables, 
most  of  whom  were  ruqaway  slaves  from  the  States.  The  per- 
fect ease  and  dexterity  with  which  tliey  supplied  the  guests 
without  making  a  single  mistake  out  of  such  a  variety  of  dishes, 
was  well  worthy  of  notice. 

It  gave  mo  pleasure  to  watch  the  quickness  of  all  their 
motions,  the  politeness  with  which  they  received  so  many  com- 
plicated orders,  and  the  noiseless  celerity  with  which  they  were 
performed.  This  cost  them  no  effort,  but  seemed  natural  to 
them.  There  were  a  dozen  of  these  blacks  in  attendance,  all  of 
them  young,  and  some,  in  spite  of  their  dark  coloui-ing,  hand- 
some, intelligent  looking  men. 

The  master  of  the  hotel  was  eloiiucnt  in  their  praise,  and  said 
that  they  far  surpassed  the  whites  in  the  neat  and  elegant  man- 
ner in  which  they  laid  out  a  table,  that  he  scarcely  knew  what 
ho  would  do  without  them. 

I  found  myself  guilty  of  violating  Lord  Chesterfield's  rules  of 
politeness,  while  watching  a  group  of  eaters  who  sat  opposite  to 
me  at  table.  Tlio  celerity  with  which  tliey  despatched  their  din- 
ner, and  yet  contrived  to  taste  of  everything  contained  in  the 
bill  of  fare,  was  really  wonderful.  To  them  it  was  a  serious 
matter  of  business ;  they  never  lifted  their  eyes  from  their  i)lates, 
or  spoke  a  word  beyond  ordering  fresh  supplies,  during  feeding 
time. 

One  long-ringleted  lady  in  particular  attracted  my  notice,  for 
she  did  more  justice  to  the  creature  comforts  than  all  the  rest. 
The  last  course,  including  the  dessert,  was  served  at  table,  and 
she  helped  herself  to  such  quantities  of  pudding,  pie,  preserves, 
custard,  ice,  and  fruit,  that  such  a  medley  of  ricli  things  I  never 
before  saw  heaped  upon  one  plate.  Some  of  these  articles  she 
never  tasted;  but  she  seemed  determined  to  secure  to  herself  a 
portion  of  all,  and  to  get  as  much  as  she  could  for  her  money. 

I  wish  nature  had  not  given  me  such  a  quick  perception  of  the 
ridiculous — such  a  i)erverse  inclination  to  laugli  in  the  wrong 


. 


LIFE    IM    THE    CLEARINGS. 


273 


, 


place;  for  tliongli  one  cannot  help  derivintr  from  it  a  wiv^ked 
enjoyment,  it  is  a  very  troublesome  gift,  and  very  difllcult  to 
conceal.  So  I  turned  my  face  resolutely  from  contemplating  '.lie 
doings  of  the  loug-ringletted  lady,  and  entered  into  conversation 
"vvith  an  old  gentleman  from  the  States — a  genuine  Yankee, 
whom  I  found  a  very  agreeable  and  intelligent  companion,  will- 
ing to  exchange,  with  manly,  independent  courtesy,  the  treasures 
of  his  own  mind  with  another ;  and  I  listened  to  his  account  of 
American  schools  and  public  institutions  with  great  interest. 
Ilis  party  -onsisted  of  a  young  and  very  delicate  looking  lady, 
and  a  smart,  »ctive  little  boy  of  five  years  of  ago.  These  I  con- 
cluded were  bis  daughter  and  grandson,  from  the  striking  like- 
ness that  exieted  between  the  child  and  the  old  man.  The  lady, 
ho  said,  wao  in  bad  health — tho  boy  waa  hearty  and  wide- 
awake. 

After  dinner  the  company  separated ;  some  to  visit  objects  of 
interest  in  the  neighborhood,  others  to  tho  saloon  and  tho  bal- 
cony. I  preferred  a  seat  in  the  latter ;  and  ensconcing  myself  in 
tho  depths  of  a  large  comfortable  rocking-chair,  which  was 
placed  fronting  the  Falls,  I  gave  up  my  whole  heart  and  soul  to 
tho  contemplation  of  their  glorious  beauty. 

I  was  roused  from  a  state  almost  bordering  on  idolatry  by  a 
lady  remarking  to  another,  who  was  standing  beside  her,  "  that 
she  considered  the  Falls  a  great  liumbug ;  that  there  was  more 
fuss  made  about  them  than  they  deserved ;  thit  she  was  satisfied 
with  having  seen  them  cnce  ;  and  that  she  never  wished  to  soo 
them  again." 

I  was  not  tho  least  surprised,  on  turning  my  '  oad,  to  behold  in 
tno  speaker  the  long-ringleted  lady. 

A  gentleman  to  whom  I  told  these  remark-  lughed  heartily. 
"  That  reminds  rao  of  a  miller's  wife  who  car  "rom  Black  Rock, 
near  Buffalo,  V  '"•  etimmer,  to  see  tho  Falls.  After  standing  bore, 
and  looking  ub  them  for  some  minutes,  she  awled  through  her 
nose—"  Well,  I  declare,  is  that  all  ?  And  I 
miles  to  look  at  you?  1  might  ha'  spa  I 
and  trouble;  my  imsband'a  mill-dam  is  a; 
it's  not  just  as  high,'''' 

12* 


ve  I  come  eighteen 
myself  the  expense 
good  a  8igftt,"-only 


274 


LIFB    IN    THQ    CLEARINGS. 


This  lady  would  certainly  have  echoed  the  sublime  sentiment 
expressed  by  our  frieiul  the  poet, — 

"  Oh,  what  a  glorious  place  for  washing  sheep, 
Niagara  would  bel" 

In  the  evening  my  husband  hired  a  cab,  and  we  drove  to  see 
the  Upper  Suspensioi-  Bridj^e.  The  road  our  driver  took  was 
very  narrow,  and  close  to  the  edge  of  the  frightful  precipice  that 
forms  at  this  place  the  bank  of  tlie  river,  which  runs  more  tliaii 
two  hundrod  feet  below. 

The  cabman,  wo  soon  discovered,  was  not  a  member  of  tlio 
temperance  society.  lie  was  very  much  intoxicated ;  and,  like 
Jehu  the  son  of  Nimshi,  he  drove  furiously.  I  felt  very  timid 
and  nervous.  Sickness  makes  us  sad  cowards,  and  what  the 
mind  enjoys  in  health,  becomes  an  object  of  fear  when  it  is  en- 
feebled and  un.strung  by  bodily  weakness. 

My  dear  husband  guessed  my  feelings,  and  placed  liimself  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  hide  from  my  sight  the  danger  to  which  wo 
were  exposed  by  our  careless  driver.  In  spite  of  the  many  i)ic- 
turescjue  beauties  in  our  road,  I  felt  g'^e.itly  relieved  when  wo 
drove  up  to  the  bridge,  and  our  short  joarncy  was  accomplish- 
ed. 

The  Suspension  Bridge  on  which  wo  now  stood — surveying 
frona  its  dizzy  height,  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet  above  the 
water,  the  stream  below — seems  to  demand  from  us  a  greater 
amount  of  interest  than  the  one  at  Queenstone,  from  the  fact  of 
its  having  been  the  first  experiment  of  the  kind  ever  made  in 
this  country, — a  grand  and  successful  effort  of  mechanical  genius 
over  obstacles  that  appeared  insurmountable. 

The  river  is  two  hundred  feet  wider  here  than  at  Queenstone, 
and  the  bridge  is  of  mucli  larger  dimensions.  Tlie  height  of  tlio 
stone  tower  that  supports"  it  on  the  American  side,  is  sixty-eight 
feet,  and  of  tho  wooden  tower,  on  the  Canadian  shore,  fifty  feet. 
The  number  of  cables  for  tlie  bridge  is  sixteen ;  of  strands  iu 
each  cable,  six  humlred  ;  of  strands  in  tho  ferry-cable,  thirty- 
Bovon,  tno  di.:metcr  of  which  is  seven-eighths  of  an  inch.  Tho 
ultimate  teuaiou  is  six  thousand  live  hundred  tons,  and  tho  capa- 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


276 


sentiment 


ovo  to  seo 

took  was 

si  pice  til  at 

more  than 

ber  of  tlio 
;  and,  liko 
very  timid 
■vvliat  tlio 
an  it  is  en- 

liimsclf  in 

which  wo 

many  i)ic- 

l  when  wo 

ccomplish- 

-snrveying 
above  the 
)  a  greater 
tliO  fact  of 
jr  made  in 
ical  genius 

ueenstono, 
ght  of  tho 
sixty-eight 
,  fifVy  feet. 

strands  in 
jle,  thirty- 
nch.     Tho 

tho  capa- 


city of  tlio  bridge,  five  hundred.    A  passage  arrow's  is  thrillingly 
exciting. 

Tho  depth  of  tho  river  below  tho  bridge  is  two  hundred  and 
fifty  feet,  and  tho  water  partakes  more  largely  of  that  singular 
deep  green  at  tliis  spot  than  I  had  remarked  elsewhere.  Tho 
American  stage  crossed  the  bridge  as  wo  were  leaving  it,  and  tho 
horses  seemed  to  feel  tho  same  mysterious  dread  which  I  have 
before  described.  A  great  number  of  strong  wooden  posts  that 
support  tho  towers  take  greatly  from  tho  elegance  of  this  bridge; 
but  I  am  told  that  these  will  shortly  be  removed,  and  their  place 
sui)plied  by  a  stone  tower  and  buttresses.  We  returned  by  an- 
other and  less  dangerous  ronte  to  tho  Clifton  House,  just  in  time 
to  witness  a  glorious  autumnal  sunset. 

The  west  was  n  flood  of  molten  gold,  fretted  with  crimson 
clouds ;  the  great  Ilorse-shoo  Fall  caught  every  tint  of  the  glow- 
ing heavens,  and  looked  like  a  vast  sheet  of  flame,  the  mist  rising 
from  it  like  a  wreath  of  red  and  violet-colored  smoke.  This 
gorgeous  sight,  contrasted  by  tho  dark  pine  woods  and  frowning 
cliflfs  which  were  thrown  into  deep  shade,  presented  a  spectacle 
of  such  surpassing  beauty  and  grands  ir.  i-at  it  could,  only  be  ap- 
preciated by  those  who  witnessed  it.  Auy  attempt  to  describe 
it  must  prove  a  failure.  I  stood  chained  to  the  spot,  mute  with 
admiration,  tiiii  tlie  sun  set  behind  the  trees,  and  tho  last  rays  of 
light  failed  from  tlie  horizon ;  and  still  the  thought  uppermost 
in  my  mind  was :  who  could  feel  disappointed  at  a  scene  liko 
this?    Can  the  wide  world  supply  such  another? 

The  removal  of  all  the  ugly  mills  along  its  shores  would  im- 
prove it,  perhaps,  and  add  tho  one  charm  it  wants,  by  being 
hemmed  in  by  tasteless  buildings — the  sublimity  of  solitude. 

Oh,  for  one  hour  alone  with  Nature,  and  ber  great  master- 
piece, Niagara !  What  solemn  converse  would  the  soul  hold  with 
its  Creator  at  such  a  shrine — and  tlie  busy  hum  of  practical  life 
would  not  mar,  with  its  jarring  discord,  this  grand  "thunder  of 
the  waters!"  Realities  are  unmanageable  things,  in  some  hands, 
and  the  Americans  are  gravely  contemplating  making  their  sub- 
blirae  Fall  into  a  motive  power  for  turning  machinery. 

Ye  gods !  what  next  will  tho  love  of  gain  suggest  to  these 


^76 


LIFE   IN    Xna   CLEARINGS. 


gold-worshippers  ?  The  whole  earth  should  enter  into  a  protest 
against  such  an  act  of  sacrilege — sucji  a  shameless  desecration  of 
one  of  the  noblest  works  of  God. 

Niagara  beh)tigs  to  no  particular  nation  or  people.  It  is  an 
inheritance  bequeathed  by  the  great  Author  to  all  mankind — an 
altar  raised  by  his  own  almighty  hand — at  which  all  true  wor- 
shippers must  bow  the  knee  in  solemn  adoration.  I  trnst  that 
these  free,  glad  waters  will  assert  their  own  rights,  and  dash 
into  mist  and  spray  any  attempt  made  to  infringe  their  glorious 
liberty. 

But  the  boll  is  ringing  for  tea,  and  I  must  smother  my  indig- 
nation with  the  reflection,  thit  "sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof." 


A  FEEAK  OF  FANCY. 

"I  had  a  dream  of  jcean. 

In  stern  and  stormy  pride  ; 
With  terrible  commotion, 

Dark,  thundering,  came  the  tide. 
High  on  the  groaning  shore 

Upsprang  the  wreathed  spray ; 
Tremendous  was  the  roar 

Of  the  angry  echoing  bay. 

**  Old  Neptune'H  snowy  coursers 

Unbridled  trode  the  main, 
And  o'er  the  foaming  waters 

Plunged  on  in  maa  disdain  : 
The  furious  surges  boiling. 

Roll  mountains  in  their  path ; 
Beneath  their  white  hoofs  coiling, 

They  spurn  them  in  their  wrath. 

"  The  moon  at  full  was  streaming 
Through  rack  and  thunder-cloud, 
Like  the  last  pale  taper  gleaming 
On  coiBu,  pall,  and  nhroud. 


y'* 


LIFE    IN   TUB    CLBARINQ8. 


211 


>  a  protest 
oration  of 

It  is  an 
ikind — an 
true  wor- 
trnst  that 
and  dash 
r  glorious 

my  indig- 
[3  the  evil 


The  winds  were  fiercely  wreaking 
Their  vengeance  on  the  wave, 

A  hoarse  dirge  wildly  Hhrieking 
O'er  each  uncolBn'd  grave. 

"  I  started  from  my  pillow — 

The  moon  was  riding  high, 
The  wind  scarce  hoav'd  a  billow 

Beneath  that  oloudjeas  sky. 
I  look'd  from  earth  to  heaven. 

And  blesa'd  the  tranquil  beam  ; 
My  trembling  heart  had  striven 

With  the  tempest  of  a  dream." 


27S 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLBARINOS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


'  Adown  Niagara'a  f^nnt  ntccp, 
The  foaoiiiiK  bruakerM  crowding  leap, 

With  wild  tunuiltuouH  roar; 
The  mighty  din  aHccnda  on  iilKh, 
In  deafening  thunder  to  the  sky, 

And  sbakcH  tlu  rocky  shore." 


8.  M. 


The  lady  ■with  the  ringlets  was  absent  with  lier  party  from 
the  tca-taijlc ;  I  was  not  sorry  to  learn  that  slio  was  gf)ne,  I 
had  conceived  a  prejudice  against  her  from  the  remark  I  heard 
lior  make  about  the  Falls.  Her  gustativenes.s  predominated  80 
largely  over  her  ideality,  tliat  she  reminded  mo  of  a  young  lady 
who,  after  describing  to  mo  a  supper  of  which  by  her  own 
account  she  had  largely  partaken,  said,  with  a  candour  alaost 
shocking  in  its  simplicity— 

"  To  tell  you  tho  plain  truth,  my  dear  Mrs.  M ,  my  art 

(sho  was  English,  and  cockney,  and  dreadfully  mangled  tho  letter 
h  whenever  it  stumbled  into  a  speech)  is  in  my  stomach.'''* 

Tho  cup  of  excellent  tea  was  most  refreshing  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  day  ;  and,  while  enjoying  it,  I  got  into  an  agreeable  chat 
with  several  pleasant  people,  but  we  were  all  strangers  even  in 
name  to  each  other. 

Tho  night  was  misty  and  intensely  dark,  without  moon  or 
stars.  How  I  longed  for  ono  glimpso  of  the  former,  to  shed  if 
only  a  wandering  gleam  upon  the  Falls!  Tho  awful  music  of 
tlieir  continuous  roar  tilled  tho  heavens,  and  jarred  the  windows 
of  the  building  with  tho  tremulous  motion  wo  feel  on  board  a 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAIIINQS. 


279 


Btcamboat.  And  then  T  amnsod  tnysolf  witli  picturing  (Inrinj? 
ono  of  onr  desolating  tliundor-stortns,  leaping  into  oxistenco 
ont  of  tlio  dense  darkness,  when  revealed  by  the  broad  red 
llashca  of  liglitning;  and  I  wished  that  my  limited  means  would 
allow  mo  to  remain  long  enough  in  their  vicinity,  to  see  them 
under  every  change  of  season  and  weather.  Bat  it  was  not  to 
bo ;  and  after  peering  long  and  an.dously  into  thu  dark  night,  I 
retreated  to  an  unoccupied  sofa  in  a  distant  part  of  the  saloon, 
to  watch  and  listen  to  all  that  was  passing  around  mo. 

Two  young  American  ladies,  not  of  a  highly  educated  class, 
wore  engaged  in  a  lively  cor.vereation  with  two  dashing'  English 
officers,  who,  for  thoir  own  amtHoment,  Avero  practising  ujion 
their  credulity,  and  flatterii  ^  their  national  projudiros  with  tho 
most  depreciating  remarks xui  Pngland  and  tho  English  poo])le. 

"I  am  English,"  cried  number  one  ;  "  but  I  in  no  great  ad- 
mirer of  her  people  and  institutions.  Tho  Anicricauj  beat  them 
hollow." 

"All  the  world  think  so  but  themselves,"  said  the  younger 
lady;  "  they  are  such  a  vain,  arrogant  setl" 

"Decidedly  so.  The  men  "e  bad  enough,  but  tho  women, — 
I  dare  say  you  have  heard  them  called  handsome." 

"Ah,  yes,"  in  a  lively  tone;  "but  I  never  behoved  it,  1  never 
in  my  life  saw  a  pretty  English  woman  among  all  that  I  havo 
seen  in  Now  York.  To  my  thinking,  they  are  a  sad  -ot  of 
frights.  Stiff,  formal,  and  repidsivo,  they  dress  in  shocking  bad 
taste,  and  c<  nsider  themselves  and  their  uncouth  fashions  as  tho 
starulards  of  perfection." 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  are  right.  They  are  odious  creatures. 
The  beauty  for  which  they  were  once  renowned  has  vanished 
with  the  last  generation.  Our  modern  iinglish  girls  are  decided 
barbarians.  It  is  impossible  to  meet  with  a  pretty  English 
woman  now-a-days.  I  have  made  a  vow  to  cut  them  altogether; 
and  if  c/er  I  commit  such  a  foohsh  liug  as  matrimony,  to  take 
to  myself  an  American  wife." 

"Are  you  in  earn^jst?"  with  a  very  fascinating  emile,  and 
Hashing  upon  him  her  fine  dark  eyes. 

"Quito  so.    Bat,  now,  you  must  not  take  me  for  a  rich 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  r:.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


4b 


280 


LIFE   IN    THE   CLEARINGS. 


English  Coelebs  in  search  of  a  wife.  I  am  an  unfortunate  scape- 
grace, have  run  out  all  my  means,  and  am  not  worth  a  York 
aliilling  to  jingle  on  a  tomb-stone.  I  was  obliged  to  boiTow 
money  of  my  landlord — ^he's  a  capital  fellow — to  pay  my 
washerwoman's  bill  this  morning.  So  don't  fall  in  love  with  me. 
I  assure  you,  on  my  honour,  it  would  be  a  bad  spec." 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  returned  the  dark-eyed  girl,  evidently 
much  pleased  with  her  odd  companion.  "Are  you  very  young?'' 

"I  was  never  young.  My  mother  told  me  that  I  had  cut  my 
wisdom-teeth  when  I  was  born.  I  was  wide  awake,  too,  like 
your  clever  people,  and  have  kept  my  eyes  open  ever  since." 

"  You  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world  ?" 

"  Yes,  too  much  of  it ;  but  'tis  a  tolerable  world  to  live  in 
after  all." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  the  United  States  ?" 

"  Only  crossed  from  the  other  side  a  few  days  ago.  Did  you 
not  notice  the  arrival  of  Mr.  P- —  among  the  list  of  distin- 
guished foreigners  that  honoured  your  great  city  with  their  pre- 
eence  ?" 

"  And  what  struck  you  most  when  you  got  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  the  women,  of  course." 

"  You  flatter  us." 

"  Fact,  upon  honour,"  with  a  quizzical  application  of  his  hand 
to  his  heart.  * 

"  What  did  you  admire  in  them  ?" 

"  Theu*  straight  up  and  down  figures.  They  have  no  vulgar 
redundancies — no  red  Cheeks  and  pug  noses ;  and  then  their 
voices  are  so  sweet  and  harmonious,  their  pronunciation  so  cor- 
rect, so  every  way  superior  to  the  boisterous,  hearty  frankness 
of  our  !"ritish  girls  1 " 

"  English  women- liave  very  bad  noses,  I  have  remarked  that  • 
and  they  are  so  horribly  fat,  and  they  laugh  so  loud,  and  talk  in 
such  a  high  key  I  My  1  I  often  wondered  where  they  learned 
their  manners." 

"Ohl  'tis  all  natural  to  them — it  comes  to  them  without 
teaching." 

"  I  have  been  told  that  London  is  a  shocking  place." 


ito  scape- 
ti  a  York 
)  boiTow 
pay  my 
with  me. 

evidently 
young?'' 
,d  cut  my 
,  too,  like 
nco. 


UFR    IN    TITR    CLEAniNGS. 


281 


5> 


3  live  in 


Did  you 
of  distin- 
their  pre- 


3e." 


his  hand 


10  vulgar 
len  their 

• 

>n  so  cor- 
[rankness 

:ed  that ; 
id  talk  in 
'  learned 

•without 


' 


"  Dreadful ;  and  tlie  climate  ih  disgustiiii,'.  It  rains  tliorc  every 
day,  and  fogs  are  so  ])revalent  that,  during  the  winter  months, 
they  burn  candles  all  day  to  see  to  eat.  As  to  the  sun,  he  never 
comes  out  but  once  or  twice  during  the  summer,  just  to  let  us 
kuoAv  that  he  lias  not  been  struck  out  of  creation.  And  the 
streets,  ray  dear  young  lady,  are  so  filthy,  that  the  women  havo 
to  wear  pattens  in  their  carnages." 

"  You  don't  say  ?" 

"  Just  to  keep  their  petticoats  out  of  the  mud,  which  is  so  deep 
that  it  penetrates  through  the  bottom  of  the  carriages." 

"  I  never  will  go  to  England,  I  declare." 

"  You  will  be  better  appreciated  in  your  free  and  glorious 
country.  Slavery  thrives  there,  and  you  make  slaves  of  us  poor 
men." 

"Now,  do  stop  there,  and  have  done  with  your  blarney." 

"  Blarney !  I'm  not  Irish.  Englishmen  always  speak  the  truth 
when  talking  to  the  ladies." 

Here  he  paused,  quite  out  of  breath,  and  his  companion  in  mis- 
chief commenced  with  the  other  lady. 

"  Who  is  that  tall,  stout,  handsome  man,  with  the  fat  lady  on 
his  arm,  who  has  just  entered  the  room  ?" 

"  That's  an  American  from  the  south  ;  he's  worth  his  weight 
in  gold,  and  that  fleshy  woman's  his  wife.  My  I  is  he  not  hand- 
some 1  and  he's  so  clever — one  of  our  greatest  senators." 

"If  size  makes  a  man  great,  and  ho  has  the  distinguished 
honour  of  being  one  of  your  senators,  he  mui^t  bo  a  great,  a  very 
great  man," 

"  He's  a  splendid  orator ;  you  should  hear  him  speak." 

"  He  has  kept  his  mouth  shut  all  day ;  and,  when  ho  does  open 
it,  it  is  only  to  speak  in  French  to  his  wife.  My  curiosity  is  ex- 
cited ;  it  would  be  quite  a  treat  to  hear  him  talk  on  any  subject." 

"  When  he  speaks,  it's  always  to  the  purpose.  But  there's  no 
one  here  who  is  able  to  appreciate  talents  like  his." 

"  He's  an  American  aristocrat." 

"  We  have  no  aristocrats  with  us.  He's  a  great  slaveowner, 
and  immensely  rich." 

"  Very  substantial  claims  to  distinction,  I  must  confess.    You 


282 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUINOB. 


I        s 


are  wiser  in  these  matters  than  wo  are.  What  do  you  think  of 
Canada  ?" 

•  I  don't  know ;  it's  very  well  for  a  young  place.  I  only 
came  here  with  sister  last  night ;  we  are  on  our  way  to  Quebec." 

"To  visit  friends?" 

"  We  have  no  friends  in  Canada.  We  want  to  see  Lord 
Elgin." 

"Lord  Elgin  1" 

"Yes.  We  have  seen  a  great  many  curious  things,  but  we 
never  saw  an  English  lord." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  Quebec  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
look  at  Lord  Elgin  ?  His  lordship  should  feel  himself  highly 
flattered.     What  sort  of  an  animal  do  you  suppose  him  to  be  ?" 

"  A  man,  of  course ;  but  I  assure  you  that  the  Boston  ladies 
thought  a  great  deal  of  him.  Sister  and  I  have  plenty  of  time 
and  money  at  our  disposal,  and  wo  wanted  to  see  if  their  opinion 
was  correct." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  may  be  gratified,  and  agree  with  the  Bos- 
ton ladies  that  he  is  a  very  clever  man." 

"  Is  he  handsome  ?" 

"  He  has  an  English  nose." 

"  Oh,  shocking  1" 

"  A  decided  Anglo-Saxon  face." 

"  I'm  sure  I  shan't  admire  him." 

"  But  I'll  not  anticipate.  A  man  may  bo  a  fine-looking  fellow 
in  spite  of  his  nose.    But  what  do  you  think  of  the  Falls  ?" 

"  Well,  I  have  not  quite  made  up  ray  mind  about  them.  I 
should  like  to  ride  down  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  to  look  at  them 
from  below." 

"  I  will  order  a  carriage  to-morrow  morning,  and  drive  you 
down." 

"  Thank .  you ;  I  can  do  that  for  myself,  if  I  have  a  mind  to. 
I  should  like  to  ride  down  on  horseback." 

"  The  path  is  too  steep ;  no  one  ventures  down  that  terrible 
road  on  horseback." 

"  But  I'm  a  capital  rider." 

"  No  matter ;  they  ueo  cows  for  that  purpose  here.'' 


, 


LIFE    IK   THE    CLEARINGS. 


283 


u  think  of 

e.    I  only 
I  Quebec." 

see  Lord 


;g,  but  wo 

96  than  to 
lelf  highly 
1  to  be  ?" 
jton  ladies 
ty  of  time 
)ir  opinion 

ti  the  Bo3- 


ing  fellow 
ils?" 

them.     I 
>k  at  them 

drive  you 

a  mind  to. 

at  terrible 


"Oowsl" 

"  They  are  very  safe,  sure-footed  animals.  All  the  ladies  ride 
down  to  the  Falls  on  :o  ivs." 

"  Are  they  fools  ?" 

"  Wise  women.  Did  not  you  see  that  fine  drove  of  cows  pass 
the  hotel  at  sunset  ?" 

"  I  did.  I  thought  they  were  driven  into  the  yard  to  be 
milked." 

"  Why,  yes ;  but  those  cows  are  making  Mr. 's  fortune. 

They  serve  a  double  purpose,  providing  delicious  butter  and 
cream  for  his  customers,  and  acting  as  horses  for  the  ladies.  I 
will  pick  out  the  most  docile  among  tliem  for  your  excursion  to- 
morrow morning,  and  see  it  bridled  and  saddled  myself." 

Tliis  was  too  much  for  the  gravity  of  any  one.  My  son-in-law 
ran  out  of  the  room,  and  I  laughed  aloud.  Th<>  poor  girls  began 
to  find  out  that  they  were  sold,  and  retreated  into  the  balcony. 
An  hour  afterwards,  as  I  was  pacing  through  the  long  gallery 
that  led  to  our  sleeping  apartment,  one  of  the  many  doors  on 
either  side  softly  opened,  and  the  youngest  of  these  bright-eyed 
damsels  stole  out. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question,"  she  said,  laying  her  very 
white  hand  confidingly  on  my  arm ;  "  were  those  Englishmen 
quizzing  ray  sister  and  me  ?" 

"  Need  you  ask  that  question  ?"  said  I,  not  a  little  amused  at 
her  simplicity. 

"  I  never  suspected  it  till  I  saw  your  son  laughing  to  himself, 
and  then  I  guessed  something  was  wrong.  It  was  a  great  shame 
of  those  rude  fellows  to  amuse  themselves  at  our  expense ;  but 
your  son  is  quite  a  different  person — so  handsome  and  gentle- 
manly.   We  admire  him  so  much.    Is  he  married  ?" 

"  His  wife  is  my  daughter." 

I  can't  tell  why  my  answer  struck  the  fair  inquirer  dumb ; 
she  drew  back  suddenly  into  her  chamber,  and  closed  the  door 
without  bidding  me  good  night,  and  that  was  the  last  time  I 
saw  or  heard  of  her  and  her  companion. 

"A  sum.mer  spent  at  the  Clifton  House  would  elicit  more 
extraordinary  traits  of  character  than  could  be  gathered  from 


284 


LIFK    IN    THE    CLEAniNOS. 


M 


1 


the  chit-chat  of  a  dozen  novels,"  thought  I,  as  I  paced  on  to 
No.  50,  the  last  room  on  the  long  tier, 

I  was  «p  by  daybreak  the  next  morning  to  see  the  Falls  by 
sunrise,  and  ■was  amply  repaid  for  leaving  my  warm  bed,  and 
encountering  the  bright  bracing  morning  air,  by  t.vo  hours'  en- 
joyment of  solemn  converse  alone  -with  God  and  Niagara.  The 
sun  had  not  yet  lifted  his  majestic  head  above  the  pine  forest,  or 
chased  with  his  beams  the  dark  shadows  of  night  that  rested 
within  the  curved  sides  of  the  great  Ilore-shoe.  The  waters 
looked  black  as  they  rolled  in  vast  smooth  masses  downward, 
till,  meeting  the  projecting  rocks,  they  were  tossed  high  into  the 
air  in  clouds  of  dazzling  foam — so  pure,  so  stainlessly  white, 
when  contrasted  with  the  darkness,  that  they  looked  as  if 
belonging  to  Heaven  rather  than  to  earth.  Anon,  that  dancing 
feathery  tumult  of  foam  catches  a  rosy  gleam  from  the  coming 
day.  A  long  stream  of  sunlight  touches  the  centre  of  the 
miglity  arch,  and  transforms  the  black  waters  into  a  mass  of 
smooth  transparent  emerald  green,  and  the  spray  flashes  with 
myriads  of  rubies  and  diamonds ;  while  the  American  Fall  still 
rolls  and  thunders  on  in  cold  pure  whiteness.  Goat  Island  and  its 
crests  of  dark  pines  shrouding  it  in  a  robe  of  gloom.  1  he  voice 
of  the  waters  rising  amidst  the  silence  that  reigns  at  that  lovely 
calm  hour,  sounds  sonorous  and  grand.  Be  still,  O  my  soul  I 
earth  is  pouring  to  her  Creator  her  morning  anthem  of  solemn 
praise  1 

Earth  1  how  beautiful  thou  art  I  "When  will  men  be  worthy 
of  the  paradise  in  which  they  are  placed  ?  Did  our  first  father, 
amidst  the  fresh  young  beauty  of  his  Eden,  ever  gaze  upon  a 
spectacle  more  worthy  of  his  admiration  than  this  ?  We  will 
except  those  moments  when  he  held  converse  with  God  amid 
the  cool  shades  of  that  delicious  garden. 

"  That's  a  sublime  sight !"  said  a  voice  near  me. 

I  turned  and  found  the  old  American  gentleman  at  my  side. 

"  I  can  see  a  change  in  the  appearance  of  these  Falls,"  he  con- 
tinued, "since  I  visited  them  some  forty  years  ago.  Time 
changes  everything ;  I  feel  that  I  am  changed  since  then.  I 
was  young  and  active,  and  clambered'  about  these  rugged  banks 


LIFE    IN    TIIK    CLEARINGS. 


285 


cd  on  to 

)  Falls  by 
bed,  and 
lourd'  en- 
ira.    The 
forest,  or 
lat  rested 
le  waters 
ownward, 
h  into  the 
}ly  white, 
ced  as  if 
it  dancing 
ae  coming 
re   of  the 
I  mass  of 
ishes  with 
1  Fall  still 
nd  and  its 
The  voice 
hat  lovely 
my  soul ! 
of  solemn 

be  worthy 
rst  father, 
;e  upon  a 
We  will 
God  amid 


iiy  side. 
J,"  he  con- 
ffo.    Time 
then.    I 
^ged  banks 


with  the  careless  hardihood  of  a  boy  who  pants  for  cxoitenicnt 
and  adventtn-e,  and  how  I  enjoyed  my  visit  to  tliis  i)laco!  A 
change  has  taken  place — I  can  scarcely  describe  in  what  respect- 
but  it  looks  to  mo  very  dilferent  to  what  it  did  then." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  suggested,  "  the  fall  of  that  largo  portion  of  the 
table-rock  has  made  the  alteration  you  describe." 

"You  have  just  hit  it,"  he  said ;  "  I  forgot  the  circumstance. 
The  Ilorse-shoe  is  not  so  perfect  as  it  was." 

"  Could  these  Fails  ever  have  receded  from  Qnecnstown  ?" 
said  I. 

lie  turned  to  me  with  a  quick  smile — "  If  they  have  my  dear 
Madam,  the  world  is  much  older  by  thousands  of  ages  than  wo 
give  it  credit  for;  but"  continued  he,  gazing  at  the  mighty 
object  in  dispute,  "  it  is  possible  that  these  Falls  are  of  moro 
recent  date  than  the  creation  of  the  world.  An  earthquake 
may  have  rent  the  deep  chasm  that  forms  the  bed  of  that  river, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  of  time  the  same  cause  might  break  down 
that  mighty  barrier,  and  drain  the  upper  lakes,  by  converting  a 
large  part  of  your  fine  province  into  another  inland  sea.  13ut 
this  is  all  theory.  Fancy,  you  know,  is  free,  and  I  often  amuse 
myself  by  speculating  on  these  things." 

"  Your  daughter,  I  hope,  is  not  ill,"  I  said ;  "  I  did  not  see  her 
at  tea  last  night  with  her  little  son." 

Instead  of  his  usual  shrewd  smile,  the  old  man  laughed 
heartily.     "  So  you  take  that  young  lady  for  my  daughter!" 

"Is  she  not?  The  child,  however,  must  be  your  grandson, 
for  he  is  the  picture  of  you." 

"I  flatter  myself  that  he  is.  That  young  lady  is  my  wife — 
that  little  boy  my  son.  Isn't  he  a  tine  clover  little  chap  ?"  and 
his  keen  grey  eye  brightened  at  the  growing  promise  of  his  boy. 
"  I  have  another  younger  than  him." 

"  Heavens !"  thought  I,  "  what  a  mistake  I  have  made  1    llov 

M will  laugh  at  me,  and  how  delighted  this  old  man  seems 

with  my  confusion!"  I  am  always  making  these  odd  blunders. 
Not  long  ago  I  mistook  a  very  old-looking  young  man  for  liis 
father,  and  congratulated  him  on  his  daughter's  marriage  ;  and 
asked  a  yc  ing  bride  who  was  returning  her  calls,  and  who 


286 


LIFE   IN    THE   Ci 


INOS. 


^^i 


greatly  roaerabled  a  married  cousin  who  lived  in  the  same  town, 
how  her  haby  was?  And  now  I  had  taken  a  man'a  wife  for  his 
daughter — his  son  for  a  grandson.  But  I  comforted  myself  with 
the  idea  that  the  vast  disparity  between  their  ages  was  some 
excuse,  and  so  slipped  past  one  of  the  horns  of  that  dilemma. 

As  soon  as  wo  had  taken  breakfast,  we  set  off  in  company 
with  the  American  and  his  little  boy  to  pay  a  visit  to  Goat 
Island,  and  look  at  the  Falls  from  the  American  side.  The 
child  fully  realized  his  father's  description.  lie  was  a  charming, 
frank,  graceful  boy,  full  of  life  and  intelligence,  and  enjoyed  the 
excitement  of  crossing  the  river,  and  the  beauties  it  revealed  to 
lis,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  scene,  Avliich  would  liave 
been  incomprehensible  to  some  of  the  wonder-seekers  we  had 
met  the  day  before.  All  nature  contributed  to  heighten  our 
enjoyment.  The  heavens  were  so  blue  and  cloudless,  the  air  so 
clear  and  transparent,  the  changing  tints  on  the  autumnal 
foliage  so  rich,  the  sun  so  bright  and  Avarm,  that  we  seemed  sur- 
rounded by  an  enchanted  atmosphere,  and  the  very  conscious- 
ness of  existence  was  delightful ;  but  with  those  descending 
floods  of  light  towering  above  us,  and  filling  the  echoing  shores 
with  their  sublime  melody,  we  were  doubly  blessed ! 

When  our  little  boat  touched  tlio  American  shore,  the  question 
arose  as  to  which  metliod  would  be  the  best  to  adopt  in  ascend- 
ing the  giddy  height.  A  covered  way  leads  to  the  top  of  the 
bank,  which  is  more  than  two  hundred  feet  in  perpendicular 
height.  Up  this  steep  our  ingenious  neighbours  have  construct- 
ed on  an  inclined  plane  of  boards  a  reilway,  on  which  two  cars 
run  in  such  a  manner  that  the  weight  of  the  descending  car 
draws  up  the  other  to  the  top  of  the  bank.  Both  are  secured  by 
a  strong  cable.  By  the  side  of  this  railway,  and  under  the  same 
roof,  two  hundred  steps  lead  to  the  road  above.  I  was  too  weak 
to  attempt  the  fonuidadable  flight  of  steps ;  and  though  I  felt 
rather  cowardly  while  looking  at  the  giddy  ascent  of  the  cars, 
there  was  no  alternative  between  choosing  one  or  the  other,  or 
remaining  behind.  The  American  and  his  little  boy  were  already 
in  the  car,  and  I  took  my  seat  behind  them.  When  we  were 
half-way,  the  question  rose  in  my  mind — "  What  if  the  cable 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLCARINOfl. 


287 


me  town, 
ife  for  bis 
jrself  with 
was  some 
enima. 

company 
t  to  Goat 
lide.    The 
charming, 
ijoyed  the 
evealcd  to 
ouhl  have 
rs  we  had 
ghten  our 
,  the  air  so 

autumnal 
jemed  sin*- 

conscious- 
descending 
)ing  shores 

ho  question 
in  ascend- 
top  of  the 
rpendicuhxr 
construct- 
ch  two  cars 
ending  car 
secured  by 
er  the  same 
as  too  weak 
ough  I  felt 
of  the  cars, 
le  other,  or 
(rere  already 
en  we  were 
f  the  cable 


should  give  way,  where  should  wo  land  ?"  "  Yoi,*!!  know  that 
when  the  tail  breaks,"  as  the  Higljlandor  said  \s  lien  holding  on 
to  tlio  wild  boar;  and  I  shut  tny  cye.x,  determined  not  to  disturb 
my  mind  or  waken  my  fears  by  another  glance  below. 

"Why  do  you  ehut  your  eyes?"  said  tlio  American.  "I 
thought  the  English  were  all  brave." 

"  I  never  was  a  coward  till  after  I  came  to  North  America," 
paid  I,  laughing ;  and  I  felt  that  I  ouglit  to  be  as  brave  as  a  lion, 
and  not  to  injure  the  reputation  of  my  glorious  country  by  such 
childish  fears. 

When  the  cars  stopped,  wo  parted  company  with  the  Ameri- 
can and  his  brave  little  son.  lie  had  friends  to  visit  in  Man- 
chester, and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

Our  path  lay  through  a  pretty  shady  grove  to  the  village. 
Groups  of  Indian  women  and  children  were  reposing  beneath  tlie 
shade  of  the  trees,  working  at  their  pretty  wares,  which  they 
ottered  for  sale  as  we  passed  by.  Following  the  winding  of  the 
road,  we  crossed  a  rural  bridge,  from  which  we  enjoyed  a  fine 
view  of  the  glorious  Rapids,  and  entered  Goat  Island. 

This  beautiful  spot  is  still  in  forest,  but  the  underbrush  has 
been  cleared  away,  and  a  path  cut  entirely  round  it.  The 
trunks  of  these  trees  are  entirely  covered  with  tJie  names  and 
initials  of  persons  who  at  ditrerent  times  have  visited  the  spot, 
and  they  present  the  most  curious  appearance. 

After  a  few  minutes'  walk  through  the  wood,  Ave  reached  the 
bank  of  the  river,  which  here  is  not  very  high,  and  is  covered 
with  evergreen  shrubs  and  wild  flowers ;  and  here  the  wide 
world  of  tumbling  waters  are  flashing  ana  foaming  in  the  sun- 
light— leaping  and  racing  round  the  rocky,  pine-covered  islands, 
that  vainly  oppose  their  frantic  course.  Oh,  how  I  longed  to 
stem  their  unstemmetl  tides ;  to  land  upon  tiiose  magic  islands 
which  the  foot  of  man  or  beast  never  trode,  whose  beauty  and 
verdure  are  guarded  by  the  stern  hand  of  death  !  The  Falls  are 
more  wonderful,  but  not  more  beautiful,  than  this  sublime  con- 
fusion and  din  of  waters — 

"  Of  glad  rejoicing  waters, 
Of  living  leaping  waters." 


288 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAKINGH. 


^f 


Tljeir  eternal  voice  and  motion  might  truly  bo  termed  the  "joy 
of  waves." 

On  tlio  American  side,  the  view  of  the  great  cataracts  is  not  so 
Hwl'iil  and  overwhelming,  but  they  are  more  beautiful  in  detail, 
and  present  so  many  exquisite  pictures  to  the  eye.  They  are  more 
involved  in  mystery,  as  it  were;  and  so  much  is  left  for  the 
imagination  to  combine  into  every  varied  form  of  beauty.  You 
look  down  into  the  profound  abyss;  you  are  wetted  with  that 
shower  of  silvery  spray  that  rises  higher  than  tiie  tree-tops,  and 
which  gives  you  in  that  soft  rain  an  actual  consciousness  of  its 
living  i)resence. 

I  did  not  cross  the  bridge,  which  extends  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  great  plunge,  or  clind)  to  the  top  of  tower;  for  my 
strength  had  so  entirely  failed  me,  tl^at  it  was  with  difhculty  I 
could  retrace  my  steps.  I  sat  for  about  an  hour  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  feasting  my  soul  with  beauty  ;  and  with  re- 
luctance, tliat  drew  tears  from  my  eyes,  bade  adieu  to  the 
enchanting  spot — not  for  ever,  I  hope,  for  should  God  prcdong 
my  life,  I  shall  try  and  visit  the  Falls  again.  Lil<e  every  jjcrfect 
v/ork,  the  more  frequently  and  closely  they  are  examined,  the 
more  wonderful  they  must  appear ;  the  mind  and  eye  can  never 
weary  of  such  an  astonishing  combination  of  sublimity  and 
jjoAver. 

We  stopped  at  a  pretty  cottage  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  to  get 
a  glass  of  water,  and  to  buy  some  peaches.  For  these  we  had  to 
pay  treble  the  price  at  which  they  could  bo  procured  at  Toronto ; 
but  they  proved  a  delicious  refreshment,  tlie  day  was  very  warm, 
and  I  was  parched  with  thirst.  Had  time  permitted,  I  should 
have  enjoyed  greatly  a  ramble  through  tjje  town  ;  as  it  Avas,  my 
brief  acquaintance  Avith  the  American  shores  left  a  very  pleasing 
imi)res3ion  on  my  mind. 

The  little  that  I  have  seen  of  intelligent,  Avell-cducated  Ameri- 
cans, has  given  me  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  people.  Britain 
may  be  proud  of  these  noble  scions  from  the  parent  tree,  Avhoso 
fame,  like  her  oAvn,  is  destined  to  fill  the  Avorld.  "  The  great 
daughter  of  a  great  mother,"  America  claims  renoAvn  for  her 
lawful  inheritance;  and  it  is  to  be  deejdy  regretted  that  any 


UhK    IN    TMK    n.KARINGH. 


281) 


I  the  ''joy 

•ts  is  not  f^o 
il  in  (lotuil, 
cy  nrc  more 
left  for  tho 
a\ily.  You 
d  with  that 
ee-toi>3,  and 
iisncsa  of  its 

a  few  yards 
or;   for  iny 
h  dithculty  I 
beneath  tho 
and  -with  re- 
idieu   to   tho 
God  prolong 
^vcry  perfect 
xaniined,  the 
yo  can  never 
ubliinity  and 

3  wood  to  got 
eso  wo  liad  to 
d  at  Toronto ; 
13  very  warm, 
ted,  I  should 
as  it  was,  my 
very  pleasing 

icated  Ameri- 
ople.  Britain 
it  tree,  whoso 
"Tho  great 
nown  for  her 
ttod  that  any 


potly  jealousy  or  party  fooling  shonld  over  oroato  a  rivalry 
botweon  cotintrio.s  so  clo-cly  united  i»y  the  ties  of  blood;  whoso 
origin,  language,  religion,  and  genius  are  tho  wimo;  wlioso 
industry,  energy,  and  pcrsoveranoo,  derived  from  their  Mritish 
sires,  have  procured  for  them  tho  lofty  position  they  hold,  and 
niado  thorn  independent  of  tho  despots  of  earth. 


THE  LAND  OF  OUR  BIRTH. 

"  There  is  not  a  spot  in  this  wiilc-pcoiilcd  earth, 
So  dear  to  tho  heart  as  tho  land  of  our  birth; 
'Tis  the  homo  of  our  childhood  !  the  beautiful  upot 
By  mcm'ry  retained  when  all  else  is  forgot. 

May  tho  blessing  of  God 

Ever  hallow  tho  sod, 
And  its  valleys  and  hills  by  our  children  bo  trod ! 


"Can  the  language  of  strangers,  in  accents  unknown. 
Send  a  thrill  to  tho  bosom  like  that  of  our  own? 
Tho  faco  may  be  fair,  and  tho  smilo  may  bo  bland, 
Bnt  it  breathes  not  tho  tones  of  our  dear  native  land. 
There's  no  spot  on  earth 
Like  the  home  of  our  birth, 
Where  heroes  keep  guard  o'er  tho  altar  and  hearth. 


"  IIow  sweet  is  the  language  that  taught  us  to  blend 
Tho  dear  names  of  father,  of  husband,  and  friend  ; 
That  taught  us  to  lisp  on  our  mother's  fond  breast, 
Tho  ballads  she  sang  as  she  rock'd  us  to  rest ! 
May  the  blessing  of  God 
Ever  hallow  the  sod, 
And  its  valleys  and  hills  by  our  children  be  trodo ! 

"  May  old  England  long  lift  her  white  crest  o'er  the  wave, 
The  birth-place  of  science,  the  home  of  the  brave  I 

13 


200  MKR    IN    THE    CI.KARIN08. 

In  liT  cltioH  may  p'-iico  and  proMpfrily  (Iw.U  ! 

May  hor  ilaiight'TM  in  h»>auty  an. I  virluo  excel ! 
May  tlifir  In-anly  and  worth 
Blnt»a  the  land  of  their  birth, 

Wliilo  hGWOH  k(>op  guaid  o'er  the  altar  and  hearth!" 


I; 


^' 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAUlN(i8. 


2P1 


ClIAPTEll   XIX. 


CONi'I.USIOX. 

"  Wliy  (li)8t  thou  fear  to  spenk  the  honent  truthf 
Ppoiik  boldly,  fi-arlcsstly,  wliat  thou  tliink'st  right, 
And  tiiiio  fhull  justify  thy  wordd  uud  thuo  !" 


8.  M. 


Wk  loft  Niagara  at  noon.  A  very  pleasant  drivo  brougiit  us 
to  Queenstone,  and  wo  stepped  on  board  the ''Chlel' Justice" 
stciimboat,  tliat  had  just  toucbcd  tlio  "wbarf,  and  was  on  her  re- 
turn trip  to  Toronto. 

Tired  and  ill,  I  was  glad  to  lio  down  in  one  of  the  bertbs  in 
the  ladies'  cabin  to  rest,  and,  if  possible,  to  obtain  a  littlo  sleep. 
This  I  soon  found  was  out  of  the  question.  Two  or  three  noisy, 
spoiled  children  kept  up  a  constant  din;  and  their  grandmother, 
a  very  nice-looking  old  lady,  who  seemed  nnrse-gcriural  to  them 
all,  endeavored  in  vain  to  keep  them  quiet.  Their  lUDther  was 
reading  a  novel,  and  took  it  very  easy  ;  reclining  on  a  comfort- 
able sofa,  she  left  her  old  mother  all  the  fatigue  of  taking  cuio 
of  the  children,  and  waiting  upon  herself. 

This  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  trait  of  Canadian  chanic- 
ter.  In  families  belonging  more  cspeciiilly  to  the  middle  class, 
who  have  raised  themselves  from  a  lower  to  a  higher  grade,  the 
mother,  if  left  in  poor  circumstances,  almost  invariably  holds  ti 
subordinate  position  in  her  wealthy  son  or  daugiiter's  family. 
She  superintends  the  servants,  and  nurses  the  younger  children ; 
and  her  time  is  occupied  by  a  number  of  minute  domestic  labors, 
that  allow  her  very  littlo  rest  in  her  old  age. 
I  have  seen  the  grandmother  in  a  wealthy  family  ironing  the 


292 


LIFE    IN   TUE    CLEARINGS. 


fino  linon,  or  broiling  over  the  cook-stove,  while  her  daughter 
lield  her  place  in  the  drawing-room.  How  diflferently  in  my 
own  country  are  these  things  ordered  1  where  the  most  tender 
attention  is  paid  to  the  aged,  all  their  wants  ^  tudied,  and  their 
oorafort  regarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 

Age,  in  Canada,  is  seldom  honored.  You  would  imagine  it 
almost  a  crime  for  any  one  to  grow  old — with  such  slighting, 
cold  indifference  are  the  aged  treated  by  the  young  and  strong. 
It  is  not  unusual  to  hear  a  lad  speak  of  his  father,  perhaps,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  as  the  "  old  fellow,"  the  "  old  boy,"  and  to  ad- 
dress a  grey-haired  man  in  this  disrespectful  and  familiar  man- 
ner. This  may  not  be  apparent  to  the  natives  themselves,  but 
it  never  fails  to  strike  every  stranger  that  visits  the  colony. 

To  be  a  servant  is  a  lot  sufficiently  hard — to  have  all  your 
actions  dictated  to  you  by  the  will  of  another — to  enjoy  no  rest 
or  recreation,  but  such  as  is  granted  as  a  very  great  favor ;  but 
to  be  a  humble  dependent  in  old  ago  on  children,  to  whom  all 
the  best  years  of  your  life  were  devoted  with  all  the  energy  of 
maternal  love,  must  be  sad  indeed.  But  they  submit  with  great 
apparent  cheerfulness,  and  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  work 
for  the  shelter  of  a  child's  roof,  and  the  bread  they  eat. 

The  ifaiproved  circumstances  of  families,  whose  parents,  in  the 
first  settlement  of  the  country,  had  to  work  very  liard  for  their 
general  maintenance,  may  be  the  cause  of  this  inversion  of  moral 
duties,  and  the  parents  not  being  considered  properly  on  an 
equality  with  their  better  dressed  and  better  educated  offspring; 
l)ut  from  whatever  cause  it  springs,  the  efiect  it  produces  on  the 
mi  lid  of  a  stranger  is  very  painful.  It  is  diflicult  to  feel  much 
respect  for  any  one  who  looks  doAvn  upon  father  or  mother  as  an 
inferior  being,  and,  as  such,  considers  them  better  qualified  to 
perform  the  coarse  drudgeries  of  life.  Time,  we  hope,  will  remedy 
this  evil,  with  many  others  of  the  same  class. 

There  was  a  bride,  too,  on  board — a  very  delicate  looking 
young  woman  who  was  returning  from  a  tour  in  the  States  to 
her  native  village.  She  seemed  very  much  to  dread  the  ordeal 
sho  liad  yet  to  pass  through — in  sitting  dressed  up  for  a  whole 
week  to  receive  visitors.    Nor  did  I  in  the  least  wonder  at  her 


'< 


' 


laughter 
f  in  my 
it  tender 
nd  their 

lagino  it 
ilighting, 
d  strong, 
rhaps,  in 
id  to  ad- 
iar  man- 
jlves,  but 
ony. 

I  all  your 
y  no  rest 
ivor;  but 
whom  all 
energy  of 
nth.  great 
r  to  work 

its,  in  the 
for  their 
of  moi'al 
y  on  an 
Dffspring; 
es  on  the 
'eel  much 
her  as  an 
alifiod  to 
11  remedy 

e  looking 
States  to 
he  ordeal 
r  a  whole 
er  at  her 


't 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLEAniXGS. 


293 


repugnance  to  go  through  this  trying  piece  of  ceremonial,  which 
is  absolutely  indispensable  in  Canada. 

The  Monday  after  the  bride  and  bridegroom  make  their  first 
appearance  at  church,  every  person  in  the  same  class  prepares  to 
pay  them  a  visit  of  congratulation ;  and  if  the  town  is  large,  and 
the  parties  well  known,  the  making  of  visits  to  the  bride  lasts  to 
the  end  of  the  week. 

The  bride,  who  is  often  a  young  girl  from  sixteen  to  twenty 
years  of  age,  is  doomed  for  this  period  to  sit  upon  a  sofa  or  re- 
clined in  an  easy-chair  dressed  in  the  most  expensive  manner,  to 
receive  her  guests 

Well  she  knows  that  herself,  her  dress,  the  furniture  of  her 
room,  even  her  cake  and  wine,  will  undergo  the  most  minute 
scrutiny,  and  bo  the  theme  of  conversation  among  all  the  gossips 
of  the  place  for  the  next  nine  days.  No  wonder  that  she  feels 
nervous,  and  that  her  manners  are  constrained,  and  that  nothing 
looks  easy  or  natural  about  her,  from  her  neck-ribbon  to  her 
shoe-tie. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  bride  yet  ?  What  do  you  think  of  her  ? 
How  was  she  dressed  ?  J.s  she  tall,  or  short  ?  Pretty,  or  plain  ? 
Stupid,  or  clever  ?  Lively,  or  quiet  ?"  are  all  questions  certain 
to  be  asked,  and  answered  to  the  taste  and  judgment  of  the 
parties  to  whom  they  are  put;  besides  those  thousand  little 
interludes  which  spring  from  envy,  ill-nature,  and  ail  unchari- 
tableness.  The  week  following  they,  in  courtesy,  must  return 
all  these  visits ;  and,  oh,  what  a  relief  it  must  be  when  all  this 
complimentary  nonsense  is  over,  and  they  are  once  more  at 
home  to  themselves  and  their  own  particular  friends  1 

There  is  another  custom,  peculiar  to  Canada  and  the  United 
States,  which  I  cordially  approve,  and  should  be  very  much 
grieved  for  its  discontinuance. 

On  Kew- Year's  day  all  the  gentlemen  in  the  place  call  upon 
their  friends,  to  wish  them  a  happy  new  year,  and  to  exchange 
friendly  greetings  with  the  ladies  of  the  family,  who  are  always 
in  readiness  to  receive  them,  and  make  them  a  return  for  these 
marks  of  neighbourly  regard,  in  the  substantial  form  of  rich  cakes, 
fruit,  wine,  coffee,  and  tea.    It  is  generally  a  happy,  cheerful  day ; 


:^- 


/ 


./ 


294 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


Ml 


is 


nil  faces  ■wear  a  smile,  old  quarrels  arc  forgotten,  and  every  ono 
Beeras  anxious  to  let  ill-will  and  heart-burnings  die  Avitli  the  old 
year. 

A  gentleman  who  wishes  to  drop  an  inconvenient  acquaintance, 
lias  only  to  omit  calling  upon  his  friend's  wife  and  daughters  on 
New-Year's  day,  without  making  a  suitable  apology  for  the 
omisdion  of  this  usual  act  of  courtesy,  and  the  hint  is  acknow- 
ledged by  a  direct  cut  the  next  time  the  parties  meet  in  public. 

It  is  an  especial  frolic  for  all  the  lads  who  have  just  returned 
from  school  or  college  to  enjoy  their  Christmas  holidays.  Cakes 
and  sweetmeats  are  showered  upon  them  in  abundance,  and  they 
feel  themselves  of  vast  importance,  while  paying  their  compli- 
ments to  the  ladies,  and  running  from  house  to  house,  with  their 
brief  congratulatory  address — "I  wish  you  all  a  happy  New 
Year!" 

It  would  be  a  thousand  pities  if  this  affectionate,  time- 
honoured,  hospitable  custom,  should  be  swept  away  by  the 
march  of  modern  improvement.  Some  ladies  complain  that  it 
gives  a  number  of  vulgar,  under-bred  men,  the  opportunity  of 
introducing  themselves  to  the  notice  and  company  of  their 
daughters.  There  may  be  some  reasonable  truth  in  this  remark ; 
but  after  all  it  is  but  for  one  day,  and  the  kindly  greetings 
exchanged  are  more  productive  of  good  than  evil. 

The  evening  of  New-Year's  day  is  generally  devoted  to  danc- 
ing parties,  when  the  young  especially  meet  to  enjoy  themselves. 

The  Wesleyan  Methodists  always  "  pray  the  old  year  out  and 
the  new  year  in,"  as  it  is  termed  here,  and  they  could  not 
celebrate  its  advent  in  a  more  rational  and  improving  manner. 
Their  midnight  anfliem  of  praise  is  a  sacred  and  beautiful  offer- 
ing to  Him,  whose  vast  existence  is  not  meted  out  like  ours,  and 
measured  by  days  and  years. 

Large  parties  given  to  very  young  children,  which  are  so 
common  in  this  country,  are  very  pernicious  in  the  way  in  Avhich 
they  generally  operate  upon  youthful  minds.  They  foster  the 
passions  of  vanity  and  envy,  and  produce  a  love  of  dress  and 
display  which  is  very  repulsive  in  the  character  of  a  child. 
J^ittle  girls  who  are  in  the  constant  habit  of  attending  theso 


■J 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


205 


jvery  ono 
1  the  old 

[laintance, 
igl iters  on 
for  the 
?  acknow- 
i  public, 
returned 
8.  Cnkoa 
,  and  they 
r  coinpli- 
with  their 
,ppy  New 

ate,  timo- 
Y  by  the 
,in  that  it 
rtunity  of 
r  of  their 
9  remark ; 
greetings 

d  to  danc- 
lomselves. 
ir  out  and 
could  not 
g  manner, 
tiful  ofTer- 
)  ours,  and 

ch  are  so 
y  in  which 
foster  the 
dress  and 
f  a  child, 
ding  these 


parties,  soon  exchange  the  natural  maimers  and  frank  simplicity 
80  delightful  at  their  age,  for  the  contidenco  and  fli;  j)ancy  of 
woman  long  hacked  in  the  ways  of  the  world. 

For  some  time  after  I  settled  in  the  town,  I  was  not  myself 
aware  that  any  evil  could  exist  in  a  harmless  pcrty  of  children 
playing  together  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend.  But  observa- 
tion has  convinced  me  that  I  was  in  error ;  that  these  parties 
operate  like  a  forcing  bed  upon  young  plants,  with  this  differ- 
ence, that  they  bring  to  maturity  the  seeds  of  evil^  instead  of 
those  of  goodness  and  virtue,  and  that  a  child,  accustomed  to  tlie 
lieatcd  atmosphere  of  pleasure,  is  not  likely,  in  maturer  years,  to 
enjoy  the  pure  air  and  domestic  avocations  of  home. 

These  juvenile  parties  appear  to  do  less  mischief  to  boys  than 
to  girls.  They  help  to  humanize  the  one,  and  to  make  heartless 
coquets  of  the  other.  The  boys  meet  for  a  downright  romping 
play  with  each  other ;  the  girls  to  be  caressed  and  admired,  to 
show  off  their  fine  dresses,  and  to  gossip  about  the  dress  and  ap- 
pearance of  their  neighbours. 

I  know  that  I  shall  be  called  hard-hearted  for  this  assertion ; 
but  it  is  true.  I  have  frequently  witnessed  what  I  relate,  both 
at  my  own  house  and  the  houses  of  others ;  and  those  who  will 
take  the  pains  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  these  miniature 
women,  will  soon  yield  a  willing  assent  to  my  observations,  and 
keep  their  little  ones  apart  from  such  scenes,  in  the  pure  atmos- 
phere of  home.  The  garden  or  the  green  field  is  the  best  place 
for  children,  who  can  always  derive  entertainment  and  instrnc- 
tion'  from  nature  and  her  beautiful  works.  Left  to  their  own 
choice,  the  gay  party  would  be  a  lore^  far  less  entertaining  than 
a  game  of  blind-man's  buff  In  the  school-room,  when  lessons  were 
over.  It  is  the  vanity  of  parents  that  fosters  the  same  spirit  in 
their  children. 

The  careless,  disrespectful  manner  often  used  in  this  country 
bj  children  to  their  parents,  is  an  evil  which,  in  all  probability, 
originates  in  this  early  introduction  of  young  people  into  the 
mysteries  of  society.  They  imagine  themselves  persons  of  con- 
eequence,  and  that  their  opinion  is  quite  equal  in  weight  to  the 
experience  and  superior  knowledge  of  their  elders.    We  cannot 


296 


LIFE    IN'TIIE    CLEARINGS. 


imagine  a  move  revolting  sight  than  a  young  lad  presuming  to 
treat  his  father  with  disrespect  and  contempt,  and  daring 
presumptuously  to  contradict  him  before  ignorant  idlers  like 
liimself. 

"  You  are  wrong,  Sir ;  it  is  not  so" — "  Mamma,  that  is  not 
true ;  I  know  better,"  are  expressions  which  I  have  heard  with 
painful  surprise  from  young  people  in  this  country ;  and  the 
parents  have  sunk  into  silence,  evidently  abashed  at  the  reproof 
of  an  insolent  child. 

These  remarks  are  made  with  no  ill-will,  but  with  a  sincere 
liope  that  they  may  prove  beneficial  to  the  community  at  large, 
and  bo  the  means  of  removing  some  of  the  evils  which  are 
to  be  found  in  our  otherwise  pleasant  and  rapidly-improving 
society. 

I  know  that  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  gain  the  approbation 
of  the  Canadian  public,  by  exaggerating  the  advantages  to  be 
derived  from  a  settlement  in  the  colony,  by  praising  all  the  good 
qualities  of  her  people,  and  by  throwing  a  flattering  veil  over 
tlieir  defects ;  but  this  is  not  my  object,  and  such  servile  adula- 
tion would  do  them  no  good,  and  degrade  me  in  my  own  eyes. 
I  have  written  what  I  consider  to  be  the  truth,  and  as  such  I 
hope  it  may  do  good,  by  preparing  the  minds  of  emigrants  for 
what  they  will  really  find.,  rather  than  by  holding  out  fallacious 
hopes  that  can  never  be  realized. 

In  "Eoughing  it  in  the  Bush,"  I  gave  an  honest  personal 
statement  of  facts.  I  related  nothing  but  what  had  really  hap- 
pened ;  and  if  illustrations  were  wanting  of  persons  who  had 
suffered  as  much.,  and  been  reduced  to  the  same  straits,  I  could 
furnish  a  dozen  volumes  without  having  to  travel  many  hundred 
miles  for  subjects. 

"We  worked  hard  and  struggled  manfully  with  overwhelming 
difficulties,  yet  I  have  been  abused  most  unjustly  by  the  Canadian 
papers  for  revealing  some  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Backwoods. 
Not  one  word  was  said  against  the  country  in  my  book,  as  was 
falsely  asserted.  It  was  written  as  a  warning  to  well-educated 
persons  not  to  settle  in  localities  for  which  they  were  unfitted 
by  their  prrvious  habits  and  education.    In  this  I  hoped  to  con- 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEAKINOS. 


297 


aming  to 
i  tlaring 
Hers  like 

at  is  not 

sard  with 

and  the 

e  reproof 

a  sincere 
r  at  large, 
ivhich  are 
mproving 

probation 
ges  to  bo 
I  the  good 
veil  over 
ile  adula- 
own  eyes. 

as  such  I 
grants  for 

fallacious 

personal 

jally  hap- 

who  had 

I  could 

hundred 

whelming 
Canadian 
ckwoods. 
k,  as  was 
educated 
unfitted 
d  to  con- 


fer a  service  both  on  them  and  Canada ;  for  the  prosperous 
settlement  of  such  persons  on  cleared  farms  must  prove  more 
beneficial  to  the  colony  than  their  ruin  in  the  hush. 

It  was  likewise  very  cruelly  and  falsely  asserted,  that  I  had 
spoken  ill  of  the  Irish  people,  because  I  described  the  revolting 
scene  wo  witnessed  at  G rosso  Isle,  the  actors  in  which  were 
principally  Irish  emigrants  of  the  very  lowest  class.  Had  I  been 
able  to  give  the  whole  details  of  what  wo  saw  on  that  island, 
tlio  terms  applied  to  the  people  who  furnished  such  disgusting 
jjictures  would  have  been  echoed  by  their  own  countrymen. 
This  was  one  of  those  cases  in  Avhich  it  was  impossible  to  reveal 
the  whole  truth. 

The  fcAV  Irish  characters  that  occur  in  my  narrative  have  been 
drawn  with  an  affectionate,  not  a  malignant  hand.  "We  had 
very  few  Irish  settlers  round  ua  in  the  bush,  and  to  them  I  never 
owed  the  least  obligation.  The  contrary  of  tliis  lias  been 
asserted,  and  I  am  accused  of  ingratitude  by  one  editor  for  be- 
nefits I  never  received,  and  which  I  was  too  proud  to  ask, 
always  preferring  to  work  with  my  own  hands,  rather  than  to 
horroio  or  heg  from  others.  All  the  kind  acts  of  courtesy  I 
received  from  the  poor  Indians  this  gentleman  thought  fit  to 
turn  over  to  the  Irish,  in  order  to  hold  mo  up  as  a  monster  of 
ingratitude  to  his  countrymen. 

In  the  case  of  Jenny  Buchannon  and  John  Monaghan,  tJie  only 
iico  [rishpteoplo  with  whom  I  had  anything  to  do,  the  benefits 
were  surely  mutual.  Monaghan  came  to  us  a  runaway  appren- 
tice— not,  by-the-bye,  the  best  recommendation  for  a  servant. 
We  received  him  starving  and  ragged,  paid  him  good  wages,  and 
treated  him  with  great  kindness.  The  boy  turned  out  a  grateful 
and  attached  creature,  which  cannot  possibly  confer  the  opposite 
character  upon  us. 

Jenny's  love  and  affection  will  sufliciently  prove  onr  ingrati- 
tude to  her.  To  the  good  qualities  of  these  people  I  have  done 
ample  justice.  In  what,  then,  docs  my  ingratitude  to  the  Irish 
people  consist  ?  I  should  feel  mucli  obliged  to  the  writer  in  tlie 
London  Observer  to  enlighten  me  on  this  head,  or  those  editors 
of  Canadian  papers,  who,  without  reading  for  themselves, 
servilely  copied  afaUehood. 

13* 


I 

I- 


M 


298 


LIFE    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


!^l|!. 


i?ii' 


#;, 


It  is  easy  to  pervert  people's  words,  and  the  facts  they  may 
represent,  to  tlieir  injury;  and  what  I  have  said  on  the  subject 
of  education  may  give  a  liandlo  to  persons  who  delight  in  mis- 
representing the  opinions  of  others,  to  accuse  me  of  republican 
principles ;  I  will,  therefore,  say  a  few  words  on  this  subject, 
which  I  trust  will  exonerate  me  from  this  imputation. 

That  all  men,  morally  speaking,  are  equal  in  the  eyes  of  their 
Maker,  appears  to  me  a  self-evident  fact,  though  some  may  bo 
called  by  his  providence  to  rule,  and  others  to  serve.  That  the 
welfare  of  the  most  humble  should  bo  as  dear  to  the  country  to 
Avhich  ho  belongs  as  the  best  educated  and  the  most  wealtliy, 
seems  but  reasonable  to  a  reflective  mind,  who  looks  upon  man 
as  a  responsible  and  immortal  creature  ;  but,  that  perfect  equaU 
ity  can  exist  in  a  world  where  the  labor  of  man  is  required  to 
procure  the  common  necessaries  of  life — where  the  industry  of 
one  will  create  wealth,  and  the  sloth  of  another  induce  poverty — 
we  cannot  believe. 

Some  master-spirit  will  rule,  and  the  masses  will  bow  down  tc 
superior  intellect,  and  the  wealth  and  importance  which  such 
minds  never  fail  to  acquire.  The  laws  must  be  enforced,  and 
those  to  whom  the  charge  of  them  is  committed  Avill  naturally 
exercise  authority,  and  demand  respect. 

Perfect  equality  never  did  exist  upon  earth.  The  old  repub- 
lics were  more  despotic  and  exclusive  in  their  separation  of  the 
ditierent  grades  than  modern  monarchies;  and  in  the  most  en- 
lightened, that  of  Greece,  the  plague-spot  of  slavery  was  found. 
The  giant  republic,  whose  rising  greatness  throws  into  shade  the 
once  august  names  of  Greece  and  Home,  suffers  this  heart-cor- 
roding leprosy  to  cleave  to  her  vitals,  and  sully  her  fair  fame, 
making  her  boasted  vaunt  of  equality  a  base  lie — the  scorn  of  all 
Christian  men. 

They  thrust  the  enfranchised  African  from  their  public  tables 
— born  beneath  their  own  skies,  a  native  of  their  own  soi'^  a  free 
citizen  by  tlieir  own  Declaration  of  Independence ;  yet  exclaim, 
in  the  face  of  this  Hack  injustice:  "Our  people  enjoy  equal 
rights."  Alas !  for  Columbia's  sable  sons  f  "Where  is  their  equal- 
ity? On  what  footing  do  they  stand  with  their  white  brethren? 
"What  value  do  they  place  upon  the  negro  beyond  his  price  in 


.a  they  may 
the  subject 
ight  in  mis- 
'  republican 
his  subject, 
1. 

yes  of  their 
)Uie  may  bo 
That  tlio 
3  country  to 
)st  ■svealtliy, 
s  upon  man 
r/ect  equals 
required  to 
industry  of 
!0  poverty — 

ow  down  tc 
which  such 
iiforced,  and 
ill  naturally 

>  old  repub- 
xtion  of  the 
,he  most  en- 
was  found, 
to  shade  the 
s  heart-cor- 
:r  fair  fame, 
scorn  of  all 

jublic  tables 
a  soi'.  a  free 
^'et  exclaim, 
enjoy  equal 
their  equal- 
;e  brethren? 
Lis  price  in 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


299 


dollars  and  cents?  Yet  is  ho  equal  in  the  sight  of  Him  who 
gave  him  a  rational  soul,  and  afforded  him  the  means  of  obtain- 
ing eternal  life. 

Wo  are  advocates  for  equality  of  mind — for  a  commonwealth 
of  intellect;  wo  earnestly  hope  for  it,  ardently  pray  for  it,  and 
wo  feel  a  confident  belief  in  the  possibility  of  our  theory.  Wo 
look  forward  to  the  day  when  lionest  labor  will  be  made  honor- 
able :  when  he  who  serves,  and  ho  who  commands,  will  rejoice 
in  this  freedom  of  soul  together ;  when  both  master  and  servant 
will  enjoy  a  reciprocal  communion  of  mind,  without  lessening 
the  respect  due  from  one  to  the  other. 

But  equality  of  station  is  a  dream — an  error  Avhich  is  hourly 
contradicted  by  reality.  As  the  world  is  at  present  constitute  \ 
such  a  state  of  things  is  impossible.  The  rich  and  the  educated 
will  never  look  upon  the  poor  and  ignorant  as  their  equals ;  and 
the  voice  of  the  public,  that  is  ever  influenced  by  wealth  and 
power,  will  bear  them  out  in  their  decision. 

The  country  is  not  yet  in  existence  than  can  present  ns  a 
better  government  and  wiser  institutions  than  the  British. 
Long  may  Canada  recognise  her  rule,  and  rejoice  in  her  sway! 
Should  she  ever  be  so  unwise  as  to  relinquish  the  privileges  she 
enjoys  under  the  sovereignty  of  the  mother  country,  she  may 
seek  protection  nearer  and  '''•fare  icorse/^^  The  sorrows  and 
trials  that  I  experienced  during  my  first  eight  years'  residence  in 
Canada,  have  been  more  than  counterbalanced  by  tlio  remaining 
twelve  of  comfort  and  peace.  I  have  long  felt  the  deepest 
interest  in  her  prosperity  and  improvement.  I  no  longer  regard 
niyself  as  an  alien  on  her  sliores,  but  her  daughter  by  ado])ti(>n, — 
the  happy  mother  of  Canadian  children, — rejoicing  in  tlio 
warmth  and  hospitality  of  a  Canadian  Homo  ! 

May  the  blessing  of  God  rest  npon  the  land !  and  her  people 
ever  prosper  under  a  religious,  liberal,  and  free  governmont! 


't 


300 


UFR    IN    TICK    CUKAHINOS. 


FOR  LONDON. 


li'ii 


A      NATIONAL     S  O  N  Ci  . 

"  For  London  !  for  London!  how  oft  lias  tliat  cry 
From  the  blue  waves  of  ocean  l)cen  wafted  on  high  ? 
When  tho  tar  through  the  grey  jniet  that  mantled  tho  tide, 
The  white  elillH  of  England  with  rapture  descried, 
And  the  sight  of  his  country  awoke  in  his  heart 
Emotions  no  object  nave  home  can  impart ! 
For  London  !  for  London  !  tho  home  of  the  free, 
There's  no  part  in  the  world,  royal  London,  like  thee. 

"  Old  London  !  what  ages  have  glided  away 
Since  cradled  in  rushes  thy  infancy  lay ! 
In  !hy  rude  huts  of  timber  the  proud  wings  lay  furi'd 
Of  a  spirit  whoso  power  now  o'ershadows  the  world. 
And  the  bravo  chiefs  who  built  and  defended  those  towers. 
Were  the  sires  of  this  glorious  old  city  of  ours. 
For  London  !  for  London  !  the  homo  of  the  froe. 
There's  no  city  on  earth,  royal  London,  like  thee  ! 

"  The  Roman,  the  Saxon,  the  Norman,  tho  Dane, 
Havo  in  turn  sway'd  thy  sceptre,  thou  queen  of  the  main  ! 
Their  spirits,  though  diverse,  uniting  made  one. 
Of  nations  the  noldcst  beneath  yon  bright  sun  ; 
With  the  genius  of  each,  and  tho  courage  of  all, 
No  foeman  dare  plant  hostile  flag  on  thy  wall. 
Fur  Lt)ndon  !  for  London  !  the  home  of  the  free. 
There's  no  city  on  earth,  royal  London,  like  thee  ! 

"  Old  Thames  rolls  his  waters  in  pride  at  thy  feet. 
And  wafts  to  earth's  confines  thy  riches  and  fleet ; 
Thy  temples  and  towers,  like  a  crown  on  the  wave. 
Are  hail'd  with  a  thrill  of  delight  by  the  brave, 
AVh'Mi,  returning  triumphant  from  conquests  afar. 
They  wreathe  round  thy  altars  the  trophies  of  war. 
For  London  !  for  London  1  tho  home  of  the  free, 
There's  no  part  in  the  world,  royal  London,  like  thee  I 

"  Oh,  London  !  when  we,  who  exulting  behold 
Thy  splendour  and  wealth,  in  the  dust  shall  bo  cold, 
May  sages,  a'hd  heroes,  and  patriots  unborn, 
Thy  altars  deft^nd,  and  thy  annals  adorn  ! 
May  thy  power  be  supreme  on  the  land  of  the  brave, 
The  feeble  to  succour,  the  fallen  to  save. 
And  the  sons  and  the  daughters  now  cradled  by  thoo, 
Find  no  city  on  earth  like  the  home  of  the  free  !" 


!• 

:     i 

\ 

! 

;'^V 


Q"^' 


THE    END. 


? 

10  tide, 


owers. 


nain ! 


